by Andie Brock
So far no one had suspected anything. Zayed’s father, Ghalib Al Afzal, had asked no questions of her when Zayed had presented her to him as his intended wife. In fact he had barely looked at her, giving her no more than a cold, cursory glance before nodding briefly at his son to acknowledge that he was at last doing something to address his flawed image. But for all his surly rudeness Nadia saw an old man obviously grieving the loss of his wife.
For his part, Zayed had just assumed that she was from Gazbiyaa and Nadia had tacitly kept it that way. She was helped by the fact that few people in the wider world knew she existed, let alone what she looked like. Her father had kept her hidden away, like a valuable possession to be used for bartering purposes only, to be sold for the most advantageous gain. At the time she had hated it, riled against it, despising the way she was treated and infuriating her father by turning down his choice of suitors. But now her anonymity worked in her favour.
At Nadia’s insistence, the wedding invitations had been kept deliberately vague. With so many other things occupying his time, crowding his head, Zayed had taken her adamant statement that she didn’t want her family to know of their marriage at face value, assuming that she knew best and never for one moment suspecting the real reason.
She had seen very little of him in the few short weeks since their marriage had been decided upon. His duties as sheikh of this powerful kingdom seemed onerous and never ending, and it was rare for him to have any time to himself, and even rarer for him to spend it with her. If she felt that she was just another of the projects that he was managing, that was because she was.
A rustle beside her reminded her that several pairs of eyes were watching her, eagerly waiting for her reaction to all their hard work. Taking in a steadying breath, Nadia slowly turned to look at her reflection.
She let out a gasp. Never had she imagined that she could look so beautiful. Her dress fitted her perfectly. Sweeping over one shoulder, it left the other bare as the fitted bodice held her breasts high and emphasised her tiny waist. The metres of silk that made up the skirt and the veil that was pinned to the back of her head were as fine as a dragonfly’s wings and shimmered gently as she turned to look at herself, pooling at her feet when she stopped. A pale, watery green, the colour of a limestone rock pool, the whole garment was hand-embroidered with gold and platinum thread and decorated with thousands of crystals and seed pearls in an intricate, delicate pattern that swept diagonally down the bodice, then scattered randomly across the skirt. The effect was sophisticated and ethereal and utterly breathtaking.
Closer inspection showed that no part of her body had been spared attention or adornment by this group of women. From her delicately hennaed feet that had been eased into golden jewel-encrusted sandals to the stunning collection of antique jewellery, heavy with diamonds and pearls, that had been fastened around her neck, dangled from her ear lobes and somehow swept up into her hair so that the largest teardrop pearl hung perfectly down the centre of her forehead.
‘Thank you.’ She spoke to the collective reflections of the attendants, her long silence now beginning to show as concern on their faces. ‘Thank you very much.’ She would have liked to have said more but didn’t trust herself. Her emotions were already dangerously unstable and she suspected that to open up, even to praise these kindly women for all their hard work, might tip her over the edge.
She sucked in another deep breath. She had to be strong. Today was her wedding day. And what a wedding it was to be.
If Nadia had thought it might be a small affair, with the time scale being so short and the unconventional agreement she and Zayed had reached, she couldn’t have been more wrong. Her prospective father-in-law obviously saw the occasion as a chance to prove to the world the extreme wealth and prosperity of the kingdom of Gazbiyaa, and that meant a celebration the like of which the kingdom had never seen before.
Nadia had wandered around in dazed astonishment at the transformation of the palace into a sumptuous wedding venue. The interconnected staterooms had been opened up and now row upon row of white chairs were positioned in readiness for the ceremony. And on a raised dais at the far end, two gilded thrones were waiting for the bride and groom. Just the sight of them had sent a ripple of alarm through Nadia, that it was actually her that would be sitting on that throne. That this was really happening.
Every room in the palace had been bedecked with exotic flowers, the rarest, most beautiful blooms, flown in from around the world and tended to by a team of florists who had teased them into life-size shapes of peacocks and elephants or gathered them into enormous arrangements and suspended them from the ceilings.
Outside, acres of garden had been transformed into a Bedouin fantasy, with soaring, tented structures, the interiors dressed with the finest, most colourful silks draped and swathed in voluminous abundance, and priceless Persian rugs scattered underfoot. Here the seating was arranged for the entertainment, with comfortable armchairs and enormous cushions positioned for the most advantageous view.
Nadia had seen some of the entertainers arriving, troupes of jugglers, acrobats and stilt walkers. She had even watched the fire-eaters practising from her bedroom window, lighting up the night sky with their extraordinary dangerous-looking feats. She knew there were to be animal processions, too, elephants as well as camels, and even a rumour that a poor tiger had been flown in and was caged somewhere on the premises, a reluctant guest at the wedding.
Well, that would make two of them. Three, in fact, if you counted Zayed. For in no way did the exuberant wedding preparations reflect the feelings of the bride and groom. As far as Nadia was concerned it was a means to an end, something that had to be got through as best she could to try to secure her kingdom’s future. If it meant partaking in this ridiculous charade, then she would do it. If it meant sharing a bed with Sheikh Zayed she would do that, too. For sacrifices had to be made for the greater good.
Although the thought of going to bed with Zayed was not a sacrifice. Far from it. Alone at night she had found herself becoming increasingly obsessed with the idea of what it would be like. The thought of Zayed, in all his naked, muscular glory, taking her in his arms, covering her body with his own, not in anger like last time but ready to make love to her, to take away her virginity, filled her with such a heated desire that it made her body writhe and undulate beneath the cool sheets, her hand even tentatively straying between her legs in an attempt to ease this ache. It shocked her, this totally unfamiliar feeling, this pulsing, burning, hot-blooded sexual awakening that just the thought of Zayed alone could produce. And it frightened her, too. Because with it came a loss of control, over her own body and over her feelings for Zayed. And that was something she could never let happen.
‘You look charming, Nadia.’ Two female elders of the Al Afzal family had swept into the room, and Nadia’s attendants silently disappeared. Leaning forward, one of them carefully lifted the veil so that it now covered Nadia’s face. ‘There. Now you are ready.’
* * *
Nadia nodded, quite unable to speak. In accordance with tradition, these extravagantly dressed women were here to escort her to the nikah, the wedding ceremony, and even though they weren’t unkind, they most certainly weren’t her own mother, who had no idea that her only daughter was getting married today.
In a daze of unreality she felt herself being borne along to meet her groom. The trio entered the stateroom through a door that led directly to the steps up to the dais, as, on the other side of the room, Zayed did the same.
Nadia climbed the steps with a thudding heart, aware of, but definitely not looking at, the vast number of guests that she knew were watching her. A reverential hush had spread over the room.
They reached their twin thrones at exactly the same time and stopped, facing one another. And the sight of her husband-to-be managed to steal away the last bit of breath from Nadia’s constricted chest. For never had she seen such an utterly, devastatingly handsome man. He was dressed in an oyster-coloured
sherwani, the heavy brocade fabric of the fitted knee-length coat embroidered with white and gold silks and the high collar and cuffs encrusted with pearls. Five gold and pearl buttons were fastened down the front. He stood tall and proud and darkly magnificent, and Nadia could only hope that her veil hid the flush of heated longing that the sight of him had produced.
They stared at each other, and for a brief second it was just the two of them, coming together to embark upon this crazy adventure. Zayed’s eyes flitted down the length of Nadia’s body and when he raised them again, silently mouthing the word wow, Nadia felt a ridiculous sweep of pride. Then he gently took her hand in his and they both lowered themselves onto their respective thrones.
And so the short ceremony began. With the sonorous voice of the imam reading from the Koran beside them, Nadia risked raising her eyes to take in the sea of people before her. There were so many guests, hundreds of them; royalty and heads of state, prime ministers and foreign dignitaries, flown in from all four corners of the world to witness the marriage of Sheikh Zayed Al Afzal. And also to witness the enormous wealth and mighty power of the kingdom of Gazbiyaa. Something that Zayed’s father, who was imperiously watching the ceremony from his front-row seat, was determined that this wedding would showcase.
‘Nadia Ayesha. Do you accept Zayed Omar Jamal as your husband and life partner?’
Startled, Nadia realised that the imam was addressing her, that Zayed had already said his vows and now there were several hundred people waiting for her response. Pushing the words past a throat as dry as the desert sands, she heard herself say, ‘I accept Zayed Omar Jamal as my husband and life partner.’
She watched as Zayed slid the plain gold band onto her ring finger and held out his hand for her to do the same. Fighting to control the tremble of nerves, Nadia pushed it over his knuckle where it sat snugly against his dark skin, glinting at her malevolently.
‘Then, I now declare you husband and wife.’
Zayed leaned towards her, and their eyes briefly met before he lifted her veil and planted the lightest of kisses against her mouth that was half-open in readiness.
She was sure she heard an ‘aah’ from somewhere in the crowd.
* * *
‘How are you doing?’
Zayed looked down at his beautiful new bride as they stood beside the ridiculously towering wedding cake that was taller than she was. Nadia had behaved perfectly all afternoon, the very model of grace and decorum, a mixture of the perfect hostess and the demure newlywed; it was almost as if she had done this before. She had conversed with their guests, kissing, thanking and embracing an endless stream of people, smiling prettily or lowering her eyes modestly at their compliments and charming every single one of them. Just as she had charmed him. Although charmed wasn’t really the right word in his case. Seduced might be a better one, or maybe just plain got to. Whatever it was, it was a surprising and powerful force.
But close to her now he could see the strain behind her eyes, and it was that that had prompted him to ask the question.
‘Fine, thank you.’ She tipped her chin in that particularly imperious way she seemed to reserve for him. ‘I think it is all going very well.’
That hadn’t been what he meant, and she knew it, but Zayed wasn’t going to argue.
‘Come on, then, let’s see if we can slay this beast.’ He gave the ceremonial sword in his hand a quick twirl before raising it to the lowest tier of the cake and waiting for Nadia to join him. He could feel the light tremble of her hand as it rested on top of his, and they set about pressing the blade into the cake.
The cutting of the cake meant that the banquet was finally over. One hundred different dishes prepared by the world’s top chefs had been feasted upon, washed down with the finest of wines for those who chose to drink, and now it was time for the entertainment to commence.
The guests were starting to rise from the tables, easing their gastronomically sated bodies to standing and moving past the magnificent ice sculptures to the outside area where the band had already struck up, the strains of the Arabic beat throbbing in the background.
‘Zayed, Nadia, over here!’
Across the room a handsome man had stood up and was wildly gesturing for them to come over and join his party. Nadia felt the warm pressure of Zayed’s hand on the small of her back as he steered her through the maze of tables until he had reached them, and immediately the two other men at the table got to their feet. Their three beautiful wives were smiling broadly and gesturing to Nadia to join them, and with much kissing and backslapping and chair scraping they were all seated once more.
‘Well, Zayed, who would have thought it? All four of us married!’
‘Yes, Zayed, and I think you owe us an apology. It’s only a few short weeks since mine and Clio’s wedding and not a word then! In fact, wasn’t there some talk about how you were going to have to party twice as hard to make up for the fact that we three were no longer on the market?’
‘Stefan!’ a striking redhead admonished her husband with a pointed stare. ‘Please forgive my husband. I’m afraid when these four get together they revert to college roommates. It’s just something we have to put up with.’
‘Besides, I imagine when Zayed was making his boastful claims he hadn’t met the beautiful Nadia.’
‘Oi!’ This time the admonishment came from Olivia as she pretended to glare at her husband.
‘What?’ Rocco gave a very Italian shrug of his shoulders. ‘I’m just saying—’
‘We know what you are just saying, thank you. Just be careful how you say it.’ Her eyes twinkled at him mischievously. ‘Not that any of us are going to disagree with you. Nadia, you do look stunningly beautiful. I can’t take my eyes off that dress.’
‘Thank you.’ Nadia smiled politely, but something inside hurt. She had been introduced to this lively group of people the night before, Zayed’s three closest friends and their wives. From the grin on his face she could see that Zayed was taking a few moments to relax, be himself, be happy. These people represented his previous life, the one he’d had to leave behind when he’d been forced to return to Gazbiyaa. Forced to marry her.
‘So tell me, who is the designer?’
‘Look at this, she tells me off and now Liv wants to talk shop!’ Rocco leaned back with his arms behind his head and grinned at the table.
‘This is not talking shop. Well, maybe it is a bit.’ Olivia laughed and touched her blond hair. ‘Sorry—’ she smiled her explanation ‘—my husband and I are in the fashion business and you never quite switch off. And Alessandra here is a fashion photographer. She and I have been trying to hazard a guess as to who the designer could be, though now I can see it close up I don’t think we have any idea. The detail on the stitching is amazing. Look, Alessandra.’
Alessandra pushed her chair back, needing to make room for the growing baby bump before she could lean in for a closer look.
‘So, Zayed.’ Christian dragged his adoring eyes away from his wife and cocked his head on one side. ‘This wedding was very sudden. There isn’t something you want to tell us, is there?’
‘Christian!’ Alessandra mock glared at her husband before taking hold of Nadia’s hand. ‘So please, Nadia, put us out of our misery. Who did make this exquisite masterpiece?’
‘Um...’ Nadia looked down at her hand resting in Alessandra’s, then raised her eyes to the expectant faces of these lovely women. The fact was she had no idea. It hadn’t seemed to matter up until now. She’d had bigger things to worry about than who had made her dress. But suddenly it seemed to matter an awful lot. She so wanted to belong, be part of this happy group.
The men had moved on to another conversation; she could hear Rocco asking Zayed about his brother, whether he was here at the wedding, and Zayed briskly replying that he had declined his invitation.
‘I’m sorry,’ Nadia faltered, distracted by Zayed and upset that she didn’t know the answer. ‘I don’t recall the name. Stupid of me.’ Even
more stupid was the hard knot of hurt that she tried to swallow back down her throat, the burn of tears behind her violet eyes.
‘Well, whoever it is, they have done a fantastic job.’ Pushing back her chair, Clio went to stand up. ‘D’you know what? I think I need to freshen up.’ She pointedly raised her eyebrows at her friends. ‘Would you be so kind as to show me the way to the ladies’ room, Nadia? Even though I had a tour of this place last night, it’s so vast that if I try to find it by myself you may never see me again.’
‘I will come, as well.’ Alessandra got to her feet, spreading her hands across her tummy. ‘Me and this little one never turn down a trip to the bathroom.’
Olivia rose, too, and soon their four faces were reflected in the ornate mirrors of the rest room.
‘They are not wrong when they call this your big day, are they?’ Clio was pulling a comb through her sleek red hair, but at the same time she was studying Nadia’s face. ‘You need to take a bit of time out, let your family and friends support you.’
It was meant as kindly advice, but when Nadia visibly stiffened the three perceptive women immediately noticed.
‘I don’t have any family here.’ Defensiveness made her sound cold, unfriendly. And from the exchanged glances and almost imperceptible shrugs of the shoulders in the mirror, she could see their surprise. ‘I am estranged from my family.’
‘Oh. Well, we’ll be your family now, won’t we, girls?’ Deliberately overcheery, Olivia put an arm around her. ‘You and Zayed are just perfect for one another, and I’m sure you are going to be so happy... Hey...what is it?’