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what?’ Alim asked.

      ‘I pretended that I knew what I was doing.’

      ‘But you did know what you were doing,’ Alim said, and Gabi swallowed. ‘You had already worked for a seamstress and a florist...’

      ‘Yes, but...’

      ‘And what happened with the ideas you gave her for this very important wedding?’

      ‘She incorporated some of them.’

      ‘So what part were you faking?’

      Gabi frowned. ‘I’ve learnt an awful lot working for Bernadetta.’

      ‘Of course,’ Alim agreed. ‘She is at the top of her game. I have no hesitation recommending her. Still, I know that lately most of the credit should fall to you. Have you ever thought about moving out on your own?’

      Her blush had all but faded and now it returned, though not to her chest. He watched as her cheeks darkened and her jaw tightened and Gabi was angry indeed, Alim knew.

      ‘I can’t.’

      ‘Why not?’

      ‘Alim...’ Gabi shook her head. She was loyal, even if it was misplaced, and she had also got into trouble for dreaming out loud before.

      ‘Talk to me,’ he said.

      ‘Why?’

      ‘Because I may be able to help.’

      ‘Bernadetta found out that I one day hoped to go out on my own, and she reminded me of a clause in my contract.’

      ‘Which is?’

      ‘That I can’t use any of the firms that she does for six months after leaving. I’d have to make new contacts.’

      ‘But you already use only the best.’

      ‘Yes.’ Gabi nodded, glad that he immediately got it. She had spent hours trying to explain it to her mother, who’d said she should just be glad to have a job. It was so nice to discuss it with Alim! ‘Those contacts weren’t all Bernadetta’s to start off with.’ Gabi had held it in for so long that it was a relief to vent some of her frustration. ‘The bride tonight is wearing Rosa’s creation. It was her lounge floor that I used to cut fabric on.’

      ‘Tell me,’ he urged.

      So Gabi did.

      ‘When I first worked for Bernadetta we had a bride to dress and she had only one arm. So many of the designers shunned her, they did not want her wearing one of their creations. I was furious so I suggested that Bernadetta try Rosa. She scoffed at the idea at first but in the end agreed to give her a try—Rosa made the bride a princess on her day. It was a very high-profile wedding and so in came the orders. Now Rosa works in the best street in Rome. Rosa is my contact but of course I did not think to get that in writing at the time.’

      Alim watched as Gabi slumped a little in her seat.

      Defeated.

      And then he fought not to smile as her hand went to her hair and she coiled a strand around her finger.

      For after a moment’s pause she rose again.

      Now she had started to air her grievances, Gabi found that she could not stop. ‘The flowers today, the gardenias—it was the florist’s idea to replicate the grandmother’s bouquet.’ Alim noted that Gabi did not take credit where it was not due and he liked that. ‘The florist, Angela, is the woman I worked with when I was at school. We used to work in a tiny store, now she is known as one of the finest bridal florists in Rome.’

      ‘So the best contacts are off limits,’ Alim said, and Gabi nodded.

      ‘For six months after I leave—and I doubt I could hold off for that long. That is assuming anyone will hire me as their wedding planner. I doubt Bernadetta will give a good reference.’

      ‘She’ll bad-mouth you.’

      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

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