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He said it as fact.
He was right.
Alim had thought he had the solution.
Right now, he could be wrapping the conversation up with the offer that Gabi come and work for him.
It was rather more complicated now, though, and not just because she liked him. Alim was very used to that.
It was that he liked her.
He acknowledged it then. Just a little, he assured himself.
But, yes, for two years the hotel had seemed warmer when Gabi was here. For two years he had smiled to himself as she clipped across the foyer in those awful heels, or muttered a swear word now and then under her breath.
He had never allowed himself to acknowledge her beauty but he could not deny it now.
She looked stunning.
Her hair was falling from its confines, her dress shimmered over her curves and how the hell had he not swept her into his arms to dance? Alim pondered. But the answer, though he denied it, was becoming clearer the longer they spoke—he had been resisting her for a long time.
The other week his mood had not been great.
Christmas was always busy in the hotel industry but it wasn’t just that that had accounted for his dark mood.
Issues back home were becoming more pressing.
But it wasn’t that either.
There had been a vague air of discontent that he could not place, though admittedly he had avoided seeking its source.
Alim had not wanted to give voice to it.
So he hadn’t.
Outside work he had been his usual reprobate self, but some time between Christmas and New Year he had walked into the foyer of the Grande Lucia and seen that Fleur had taken him up on his suggestion that they use Matrimoni di Bernadetta to plan the wedding. They hadn’t held a wedding here in a very long while and Alim had found that he missed Gabi’s presence. The air felt different when she was around.
He fought to bring his thoughts back to work.
‘What would you do differently from Bernadetta?’
Gabi frowned, for it felt like an interview, but she answered his question.
‘I’d ditch the black suit.’
‘You already have.’ His eyes did not leave hers as he said it but he let her know that the change from her usual attire had been noted.
Oh, it had.
It no longer felt like an interview.
Their minds actually fought not to flirt—Gabi because she did not want to make a fool of herself again, and Alim because he kept work at work.
‘There was a wardrobe malfunction back at the church,’ Gabi carefully answered.
‘Malfunction?’
‘I fell,’ Gabi said. ‘Thankfully it was after the bridal party had left, but I tore my suit.’
‘Did you hurt yourself?’
‘A bit.’
He wanted to peel off her dress and examine her bruises; he wanted to bring her now to his lap.
But still his eyes never left hers and the conversation remained polite.
‘So you would ditch the black suit in favour of what?
‘I’ve seen this fabric, it’s a willow-green and pink check, more a tartan. It sounds terrible but...’
‘No,’ Alim said. ‘It sounds different. Do you have a picture?’
Of course she did, and she took only a moment to bring it up on her tablet and hand it to Alim.
He looked at the picture of the fabric she had chosen. It was more subtle than she had described and, yes, it would be the perfect choice.
‘What would you change here at the Grande Lucia?’ he asked as he handed back the tablet. He expected her to flounder, given that she’d had no time to prepare.
Gabi though knew exactly what the first change would be.
‘There would be a blanket ban on red carnations throughout the hotel.’
She watched the slight twitch of his very beautiful lips. Alim had many areas of expertise but flowers were not amongst them. ‘I don’t tend to get involved with the floral displays,’ he said.
‘I do.’ Gabi smiled. ‘I obsess about such things.’
‘Really?’
‘Really.’
‘What would you choose?’
‘Sahara roses are always nice, though I think it should vary through the week, and at weekends I would change the theme to tie in with the main function being held.’
‘Would you, now?’
‘You did ask.’
‘Are Sahara roses your favourite flower?’
‘No,’ Gabi said.
‘What is?’
‘Sweet peas.’ She gave him a smile. ‘Marianna would faint at the idea and deny that they are sophisticated enough for the Grande Lucia, but, honestly, when arranged right...’
Her face lit up and he smiled.
Gabi was all fresh ideas and the zing of youth, and coupled with Marianna’s wisdom...
But it was getting harder to think of business.
Very hard.
‘Would you like a drink?’ Alim offered.
‘I’m working.’
And there was a slight ironic smile that dusted his lips as she mirrored his own words from earlier.
‘Gabi...’ Alim said, and then halted.
He needed to think this through before he offered her this role; she had already been dragged over the coals. If she were to work for him, it could get messy. One-night stands were his usual fare and that was why he kept his personal life where it belonged.
In bed.
He wanted the best for his business and yet, rarely for Alim, he found that he wanted what was best for her, so he came up with an alternative.
‘Have you thought of going into partnership with Bernadetta?’
‘Partnership?’ Gabi shot him an incredulous look. ‘She would laugh me out of her office if I suggested it.’
‘And when she had stopped laughing, you would tell her that you’d make a better partner than rival.’
It had never even crossed her mind.
‘Or, if you continue to work for her you set your limits, you tell Bernadetta only what you are prepared to do. What works for you...’
He did not want to lose her though.
Oh, this could get messy, yet the closer he examined it, the more it appealed.
‘There is another option...’
‘Gabi!’ Her name was said again and she turned as one of the waiters came over. ‘The photographer wants to speak with you.’
‘Excuse me,’ Gabi said, and, ever the gentleman, Alim stood as she left.
Alim went back into the ballroom and looked up. He saw the westerly door open and smiled at the thought of Yasmin creeping in.
And then he turned and saw his brother.
There were no halves where love was concerned.
‘Congratulations,’ Alim said.
‘Thank you.’
And that was all he could offer in public.
James’s complexion and hair were lighter but standing side by side it would be hard to miss the similarities. They had to step apart before someone made the connection.
Alim took a call from Violetta and was told that the Sultan of Sultans would like to speak with him.
Things were already tense between Alim and Oman.
Oman resented Alim’s freedom, and was bitter with his lot for Fleur was the love of his life. And, in turn, Alim, though respectful with words, was silently disapproving, for he loved his mother and loathed how she had been treated.
Alim bowed as he entered the Royal Suite and then told his father about the wedding’s progress.
‘Everything is going smoothly,’ Alim informed him, though that knowledge did not make things better for Oman since he could not be there to see his son marry for himself.
‘Where is Yasmin?’ he snapped.
‘We had dinner,’ Alim calmly answered, ‘and she is now in her suite. The reception will finish shortly; you will see James and Mona in the morning.’
No doubt, Alim thought, Fleur would be here soon.
He thought he would now be dismissed but, instead, Oman brought up an argument of old.
One that had never really left them.
‘I want you home.’
Alim was in no mood for this but he did not show his irritation. ‘I was in Zethlehan last month and I shall be back for a formal visit in—’
‘I mean permanently.’ Oman interrupted.
‘That isn’t going to happen.’
They had had this argument many times before.
Alim refused to act as caretaker to his country just so that his father could travel abroad more.
He would not facilitate the shaming of his mother.
Although he was happy for James and Mona and wished he could participate more in the celebration, tonight still felt like a betrayal to his mother.
