LITMIR.BIZ

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rel="nofollow" href="#u58c23962-666b-5338-964b-f92550254324">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

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