by Liz Fielding
Aware that he was waiting for some explanation, she fell back on her original excuse. ‘You’ll recall that I’m under strict orders from Amanda not to take part in any dangerous sports while I’m here.’
‘And yet you agreed to marry me.’
‘Marriage isn’t a sport.’ The heat coming off him might be warming her, the scent of fresh sweat, horse flesh, warm leather making her feel slightly dizzy, but they had laid down the ground rules and any danger was entirely in her head. ‘In this case it’s not even a marriage.’
‘Just an extension of your role as my personal assistant.’ He didn’t say the words that they were thinking—no sex—but his smile was little more than a twist of his lips. ‘With the fewer people who know about it the better.’
Confused by his irritation—surely he must want the same thing—she said, ‘What about Khal? He knows that you hadn’t met me before today.’
‘Khal will keep his thoughts to himself.’
‘And Mina? How will she take the news?’
‘Shall we find out?’ he asked as she returned with his coffee.
Her response was to let out a scream, put her hands to her face as she poured forth a stream of joyful congratulations. Then she flung her arms around him, kissed him on both cheeks before grabbing Ruby and repeating the performance, almost bouncing on the spot before rushing off to share the news with the rest of her family.
‘Does that answer your question?’ he asked with a wry smile, clearly expecting her to be amused. He couldn’t have been more wrong.
‘She thinks you’re happy,’ she said, horrified. As would his mother, his sisters...
‘I am,’ he assured her. ‘Tomorrow, thanks to you, I will be home for the first time in five years.’ He picked up his cup and made a move. ‘Eat your breakfast, Ruby. It’s going to be a long day.’
‘It’s going to be a long day for both of us but Mina will think it odd if you rush away.’ She offered him a piece of pineapple on a fork. ‘We need to talk.’
‘Those details you wanted to sort out?’ He ignored the pineapple but slid onto the stool beside her. ‘I imagine you’re concerned about sleeping arrangements.’
She felt her cheeks heat up. Which was ridiculous.
‘We’ll take the boat down to Umm al Basr and stay on board while we’re there,’ he said, cutting her off before she could get the wrong idea. ‘It has a communications centre—there are those video conferences, phone calls—and we’ll have our own living space and staff, which will cut out the palace gossip,’ he added, lifting his head as he heard the helicopter approaching. ‘How soon can you be ready to leave?’
* * *
Ruby had just zipped up her case when her phone rang. She looked at the caller ID and said, ‘Hi, Amanda.’
‘Is this a good time?’
‘Not really. We’re leaving for the capital very shortly. Princess Violet is holding a charity dinner this evening.’
‘Then I won’t keep you. I just need to know how long you’ll be staying. If it’s more than a week I’ll need to rearrange your schedule.’
‘Bram wants me to stay until Peter is well enough to return,’ she replied, fudging it.
‘Bram? When you called yesterday I had the feeling things were not going that well.’
Oh...sherbet dabs.
‘My arrival came as a complete surprise. Communication failure,’ she said. ‘Once he’d spoken to Jude Radcliffe and Peter he was fine.’
‘First name terms, fine?’
‘Everyone is on first name terms here.’
‘Oh, right. Are you happy to stay that long? According to Elizabeth, it’s likely to be a few months before Peter’s back on his feet.’
‘If it’s not a problem?’ She hated letting down people who were expecting her but, while there were plenty of well qualified staff on Amanda’s books to cover for her, there was no one else who could be the temp that Bram needed right now.
‘Yes, but it’s mine, not yours. I knew the situation when I sent you to Ras al Kawi. I’ll keep an eye on your flat while you’re away. Do you want me to forward your mail?’
‘Don’t bother. It will be nothing but junk mail and bills and they’re paid by direct debit. I have to go, Amanda. I’ll give you a call later in the week.’
* * *
Ruby and Bram were met at the helipad by a car that took them into the heart of the palace complex. When it came to a halt, Bram helped her out but left the car door open.
‘You’re not staying?’ she asked as he made a move to get back in the car.
‘Fayad is expecting me. Go and enjoy yourself.’
‘Enjoy myself?’
He smiled. ‘I’ll come and fetch you when everything is ready.’ With that, he climbed back into the car and she watched as he was driven away.
For all her outward confidence, all her experience at the high end of business, nothing had prepared her for this. It was one thing to agree to be a pretend bride but, despite the easy banter as they’d built the story of their meeting, the comfortable way they’d shared breakfast with Mina fussing around them, she was about to marry a total stranger and she was a bundle of nerves. As she’d lain awake in the unaccustomed darkness, silence—missing the background sound of a great city to lull her to sleep—her mind had conjured up a dozen reasons why it was not going to work.
‘Miss Dance?’ She turned to find an elegant young woman walking towards her, hand outstretched. ‘Welcome to the palace, Miss Dance. I’m Leila Darwish, Princess Violet’s assistant.’
She took her hand. ‘Please, call me Ruby.’
‘If you’ll come this way?’
Ruby followed her through the ornately decorated arch, across a courtyard where water burbled softly over smooth rocks, cooling the air, and on into the interior of a reception room large enough to throw a serious party.
Waiting there was a woman of about her own height, dark hair falling nearly to her waist. She was wearing a soft silk salwar kameez in a stunning mix of violet and a rare turquoise green that exactly matched the colour of her eyes.
With a wide smile she took her hands, kissed both her cheeks and said, ‘Welcome, Ruby. I’m so glad that Bram has found someone to share his life.’ Despite a serious nose that betrayed the Arab genes handed down from her great-grandmother, Princess Violet retained a touch of the streets of London in her accent. ‘I’ve always thought how lonely he must be out at the fort.’
‘Th-thank you, Princess—’ she managed, stunned that the Ruler’s wife had taken time to meet her when she had to be busy putting the finishing touches to her charity dinner. Or maybe a princess had people to do that for her.
‘Violet,’ she urged. ‘By this evening we will be cousins. Fayad and I are so happy that the Emir has called Bram home. It’s such an important moment and made even more special by the fact that he can take the woman he loves home with him.’
‘I...’ Speechless, she fell back on the only thing she could say. ‘Thank you.’
‘Let’s have tea while we talk clothes.’
‘Clothes?’
‘Bram spoke to Fayad last night and asked if I’d help you sort out your trousseau. His mother and sisters will want to see everything and his instructions were to ensure that they drool with envy.’
‘Oh, but...’ He’d totally ignored her suggestion that his sister should have that pleasure. Or maybe he’d listened when she’d said that they shouldn’t love her. ‘That’s what he meant when he said to enjoy myself?’ she asked.
Violet laughed. ‘Undoubtedly, and we will, but first we have to find something for you to wear for the ceremony. I don’t imagine you packed a just-in-case wedding dress?’ she teased.
‘Um, no... Just my work wardrobe. I’m a bit shell-shocked at the speed of this, to be honest,’ Ruby
said, making an effort to get with the narrative.
‘I know the feeling. Fayad took me by surprise too. If I hadn’t had Leila to guide me through the minefield of palace etiquette I don’t know what I would have done. She is the sister of my soul.’
The two women exchanged a look of such fondness that Ruby felt a pang of loneliness. She was close to Amanda but this was clearly something very special.
‘I envy you,’ she said. ‘I longed for a sister.’ And then, when her world imploded, had been glad that there was no one else to be hurt.
‘Bram said you have no family.’
Clearly he’d done everything he could to make this easy for her and she shook her head. ‘No.’
‘Neither had I.’ Violet reached for her hand. ‘Fayad’s family took me to their heart and Bram’s mother and sisters will do the same for you.’
Ruby swallowed and, realising that she was too full up to speak, Violet became brisk.
‘The dress... There isn’t much time. I’ve brought across some of my own collection but we’ll measure you up, have a chat about what you like. Once we have an idea of your style Leila will have a selection of clothes sent up from the boutiques in the mall.’
Violet ushered her through to a less daunting room where comfortable sofas, piled with huge soft cushions, invited her to kick off her shoes and curl up. Rails of exotic clothes in glowing jewel colours had been lined up but, before she could look at them, Leila ran a tape measure over her and checked her shoe size. That done, the two of them flicked through the clothes, transferring those they thought would suit her to an empty rail.
Shot silks with Violet’s trademark appliquéd designs, swirls of chiffon, deep reds to match her name, embroidered and beaded creations, each one costing more than she would earn in months.
‘No...’
Violet turned. ‘A bit over-the-top for your taste?’
‘They are gorgeous,’ she said, afraid that she’d offended the Princess. ‘It’s just that I usually wear black. Or grey. And I have a dress for this evening. It’s designer,’ she added a little desperately.
‘Show me.’
‘I don’t know what’s happened to my bag.’
‘Noor is unpacking it for you,’ Leila said.
Violet led the way through another, smaller, sitting room and then into a dressing room where a young woman had an ironing board set up, pressing each item as she unpacked it and then hung it in the cupboards that lined the room.
‘This is Noor,’ she said. ‘You will need a companion, someone who knows her way around, to look after you. She speaks some English and she has family in Umm al Basr.’
She dropped a quick curtsey. ‘Welcome, sitti.’
‘Thank you, Noor,’ Ruby said, trying not to show that she was totally overwhelmed.
Violet, meanwhile, had taken her little black dress from the wardrobe and was holding it up for a better look. ‘This is it?’
‘Yes. There’s a bolero with long sleeves,’ she added, showing her the little jacket with its stand away collar. Then, feeling something more was required, ‘It’s my go-anywhere dress.’
‘And absolutely perfect,’ she said, as she flicked through the rest of her clothes. ‘As you said, this is a working wardrobe but you have a distinctive style. Classic, a touch retro.’ She smiled. ‘A little bit Audrey Hepburn?’
‘You’ve got me,’ Ruby admitted. ‘I do the books for a woman who owns a high-end worn-once boutique. In return she keeps her eye out for anything that she thinks will suit me.’
‘She’s done you proud,’ she said with a smile, ‘but, even though it’s just a simple signing ceremony, we’ll do everything we can to make it special.’ She turned to Leila to show her the dress. ‘What do you think?’
‘Elegant, perfect for Bram’s personal assistant, but His Highness Sheikh Ibrahim will expect his bride to be wearing something a little more decorative for the ceremony.’ She thought for a moment. ‘There’s a dress in the new collection...’
Violet smiled. ‘Two minds...’ She turned to Noor and asked her to fetch it. ‘And if you’ll make those calls, Leila?’ Leila nodded, leaving them alone. ‘Let’s go and have some tea while we’re waiting.’
‘I’m so sorry to put you to so much trouble.’
‘It’s no trouble,’ she said, grinning broadly. ‘I think the whole thing is utterly romantic. I want to know everything. How long have you known one another? How did you meet...?’
* * *
Hours later, Ruby stood in front of a mirror in the vast luxurious bedroom. She had been bathed, had her hair, nails, make-up done by what felt like an army of maids and now she was wearing a whisper of the finest silver-grey silk and lace underwear that a billionaire Sheikh, in desperate need of a wife, could buy. But she’d seen neither hide nor hair of him since he’d driven away and left her to the tender ministrations of his cousin’s wife.
She reminded herself that if she’d been his real intended bride he wouldn’t have seen her for much longer than five hours, so it wasn’t such a stretch.
‘Ready?’ Violet asked.
She took another look at her reflection, her legs stretched by the four-inch heels she was wearing—one of a hundred or more pairs that had arrived that afternoon. Four-inch heels and clever strips of the softest pale grey suede.
She’d had little say in the choice. Violet and Leila had gone through everything and chosen for her, leaving her with little to do but nod her approval because this kind of dressing was way above her pay grade.
‘Ready,’ she confirmed, her voice little more than a whisper.
A seamstress had stood by while Leila and Violet had nipped and tucked and now the dress slid over her body like a lover’s sigh—a drift of silk and chiffon sparkling with thousands of crystals clustered thickly over the bodice, falling in sprays over her hips, glittering amongst the gathers as it fell to the floor.
Noor spent long minutes closing the tiny fastenings at the side until the dress fitted like a second skin. There were no sleeves but a cape of chiffon sparkled and flowed unlined from her shoulders to cover her arms in front and fall into a short train behind, a miracle of cut and design.
That done, all three stood back, waiting for her reaction.
It was simple, it was breathtaking and, just for a moment, Ruby wondered what it would be like to be Bram’s Princess, not on paper, but for real...
‘I don’t know what to say.’
‘That is always the effect we aim for,’ Violet said before kissing her cheek, taking her hand and leading her out through a sitting room that was now stacked with boxes and bags filled with clothes, shoes, underwear, and into the vast reception room.
They stopped in the centre of the room. Leila adjusted the fall of the skirt. Violet arranged the train then stood back and took a photograph of her using her phone.
‘Stunning,’ she said. ‘Absolutely stunning. I wish I could be here to see Bram’s face...’ Then, having kissed her again, they left her standing alone to await the arrival of her groom.
Her heart was racing and, in an attempt to slow it, reclaim control of her body if not her life, she closed her eyes. When she opened them again Bram was standing in front of her and her heart rate shot through the roof.
She had only seen in him in the most casual of clothes—a towel, a pair of shorts and a T-shirt, dusty riding clothes, the chinos he’d worn with a loose collarless shirt to travel into the city. Now he was wearing traditional robes.
Everything was simple, understated. A plain white thaub over which had been thrown the finest camel hair bisht, a fine white keffiyeh held in place by a plain black egal and at his waist he carried a traditional curved knife in a black and silver filigree scabbard. Simple, understated, regal, he was every inch the desert prince, but it was his face that held her—his gold
en eyes, a jaw strong enough to slay dragons, the seductive curve of a lower lip that she wanted to suck into her mouth.
No, no, no—
‘Wow...’ she said, all faux brightness. ‘Look at us.’
‘Rabi...’ his voice was unexpectedly soft ‘...you are every inch a princess.’
Rabi... She blinked. ‘You do know that when we’re married I’ll expect you to remember my name.’
‘Fayad thought an Arabic name would be more suitable for the contract. That it would please my father. Rabi was the nearest to your own. It means harvest.’
All afternoon Violet and Leila had talked about weddings. Their own, those of their friends. They’d shown her photographs of their children, assuming that she would soon be a mother, and she’d had to play along, smile as if she couldn’t wait.
The name Bram had given her implied fertility, fecundity and the lie was like a cold hand squeezing her womb.
‘Your father will like that,’ she said as he put down the leather case he was carrying. He glanced up, frowning, clearly catching something in her tone. ‘Good choice,’ she added with the smile she’d once practised in the mirror. The smile she used to cover hurt, pain, the spiteful remarks of others. It had been so long since she’d used it that her cheeks creaked a bit, but it seemed to reassure him and, as he opened the case, she didn’t have to pretend to catch her breath as he revealed the jewels within.
Her gasp was totally real.
‘Oh, my...’ she said, staring at the Art Deco parure of diamonds and rubies.
At one point, feeling that she had to add something to the dress, shoe, underwear debate, she’d suggested that perhaps she needed some colour to offset the silver-grey but Leila had it covered with ruby polish for her nails and colour for her mouth.
‘You like it?’ he asked.
‘It’s perfect... How did you know?’
He smiled. ‘Violet sent me a photograph of the dress, although I have to say it looks a lot better on you than a tailor’s dummy.’
She felt her cheeks warm as he continued to look at her and she said, ‘You owe her, Bram. She must have had a thousand things to do today but she and Leila have overseen every detail.’