The Scandal Behind the Wedding

by Bella Frances

She stared at the sharp dark eyes and felt a hot, painful tug in her chest. To be blessed with children was her silent dream. To give a child the love and family that she and Babs had missed out on. And to share that love with her husband.

  A fierce, unbidden image of Danny as a father crashed through her mind, jolting her and winding her. But she was not going to stall—not now.

  ‘I will give all children my love—the ones I teach and, if I am blessed, as you say, the ones I shall mother. But none of us knows the future.’

  Salim surveyed her, cast his gaze over her as if measuring her. Then he nodded slightly and turned, restarted on his path.

  ‘You have many good qualities, my dear. I am pleased to see that. I have met others who would talk to me about aesthetics rather than truth. You have depth. And humility.’ He turned to give her another scrutinising look. ‘I am sure we will get on very well.’

  She smiled back as they walked on, their pace matching, and an easiness stole over her shoulders. ‘I certainly hope so. I would like that for Danny’s sake, if nothing else.’

  ‘You would do a lot for Danny’s sake, I think.’

  She swallowed her immediate thoughts and let that hang between them. ‘Yes—yes, I would do almost anything.’

  And she meant it.

  She felt fingers lacing through hers. She felt the tug of Danny’s hand and the wrap of his body close behind her. She knew better than to expect any more affection than that—both because it was public and impolite and also because she had quite clearly asked him not to. This was now business. Strictly business. And, yes, part of that was pulling off the act, but mostly it was about bringing home the deal.

  ‘Your lovely new wife has got me thinking, Danny.’

  Danny caught up with them, kept his fingers laced in hers. ‘She has a habit of that, Salim. I think I’ve spent more time questioning myself since I met her than at any other time in my life.’

  Well, she hadn’t expected that! She turned with a startled gaze and he answered with a flashing grin, the quick squeeze of the hand and a wink.

  ‘So what has she got you thinking? Don’t tell me—a Dubai Little League?’

  ‘I could think of worse plans, my friend. But we can hatch them later—let’s have some refreshments before we retire to prepare for the banquet.’

  An aide appeared. Salim excused himself and went off, trailed by a host of other men. Danny watched them go with a speculative look. ‘I hope that doesn’t indicate anything. We still haven’t signed on the dotted line.’

  ‘But it’s gone well? So far, I mean?’

  He nodded, still staring after them. ‘Yes. He’s been particularly careful, though. Asked me more details than even I anticipated. Totally grilled me—every aspect of every angle. Thank God I was prepared. And thankfully my legal team are better than excellent. This has been the toughest deal I’ve ever negotiated in my life.’

  He turned back to look at her, his gaze fierce.

  ‘He’s really interested in you. He’s certainly done his homework, and I think he’s possibly on to us, but for him I don’t think our motivation’s the point. It’s respect and honour that are important.’

  ‘And love.’

  She said it before she could stop herself. And she felt as if she was in freefall, seeing where the words would land with him.

  ‘I don’t mean...you know...that we...’

  ‘I know what you mean. Emirati people place huge emphasis on the family and on close relationships. On love, if that’s how you want to frame it. So, yes...’ He turned his eyes away, staring out over the vast now empty courtyard, perhaps thinking about Salim, perhaps thinking about his family. Perhaps thinking about her. ‘It’s all about the relationships.’

  He frowned. Then turned back to her as if seeing her for the first time.

  He put his hands on her shoulders and stroked down her arms. ‘You’re doing a great job, Georgia. I couldn’t ask for more.’

  He looked around them—there was no one to see apart from a solitary man walking purposefully through the huge hot space. His white dish-dasha flowed in the sudden breeze that had wafted in from the desert, his dark sandaled feet the only contrast between robes and gleaming marble.

  Danny stepped closer, into her space. His eyes dropped to her mouth. Her eyes focussed on his face. Stubble was darkening his skin. His lips were deep as burgundy. And parted. Slightly parted. His white dress shirt was open at the neck and she longed to touch the tip of her tongue to the groove of his collarbone—to lick and to taste. The firm outline called out to be touched.

  She felt a softening, a readying, and a heart-deep longing. Just being beside him was intoxicating.

  He reached for her and a swift wave of arousal washed through her. He wrapped her up. Hugged her. Held her close to his body and tucked his head on top of hers.

  ‘We’re nearly home, Georgia. There’s just the banquet and then I’m sure we’ll be out of here, with the biggest pay-off imaginable.’

  She nodded into his chest as her fingers closed round handfuls of his shirt. She wanted more—so much more—but the firm muscle under the skin against her cheek steadied her like a wall of strength and fortitude. Of course he was going to get the biggest pay-off imaginable. He was a winner. A doer. And it lit her up from within just to be with him.

  ‘I’m much more conservative than you, Danny—I can’t count my chickens until they’ve hatched. But I have every faith in you. I can’t imagine anyone ever saying no to you.’

  He pushed her back with a smile. ‘You did. It took all of my powers of persuasion to get you to agree to this. Remember?’

  She smiled. Nodded.

  He turned her round, took her hand in his and walked them back to join the rest of the party.

  ‘Well, you can’t blame me. It did seem like the craziest idea imaginable.’

  ‘Does it still seem so crazy?’

  ‘We’re not done yet.’

  ‘There you go again. Keep the faith, Mrs Ryan. It’s going to work out.’

  ‘As I said, Mr Ryan, I don’t count my chickens until they’ve hatched.’

  * * *

  Danny waited for her.

  The dancers with swords, the dancers with drums, the singing and the yelling and the partying had gone on for hours. It wasn’t a wedding, but it was traditional. And he was utterly indebted to Salim for such a wonderful display of hospitality.

  The legal teams had worked on into the early evening. Very few details were still left to be ironed out. Salim was happy—that much was clear. But he wanted assurances that the environmental impact assessments would not hold anything up when the work moved forward. This was giving Danny’s business consultants a minor headache, trying to amend contracts and seek assurances, but it looked as if those chickens had well and truly hatched, and soon they’d be coming home to roost.

  The only minor drawback was the lack of one tall, slim, wide-mouthed redhead.

  She was having the time of her life, he’d been reliably informed, partying with the ladies in another room. There were chocolate fountains, sweets, and delicious morsels to eat. The hugest banquet imaginable. And of course she’d spent hours being massaged, primped and preened, her hair and make-up being fixed by Salim’s staff.

  She and the rest of the girls were dancing the night away and he was missing her. Badly.

  Salim had spoken candidly to him. ‘A good choice. You are well matched,’ he had told him. As if it was
an arranged marriage and luckily it had worked out well.

  Danny had nodded—what else could he have done? On appearances it was great! And there was still some crazy part of him that momentarily believed they were an actual married couple. But that was just ridiculous. They’d got on with this—got on with each other—because they had a clear purpose, a joint mission to take a disaster and turn it into an opportunity. And it had worked like a dream.

  But two people who had known each other for less than a week had no chance of sticking a marriage out. Look at where they’d both wound up with their previous partners. People they’d been with for months—in his case years. That loser Nick, her fiancé, who’d dumped her in the middle of town and gone off with some piece of fluff. What a jerk. If he could get his hands on him...

  And then, of course, there was Maya. And Mark.

  He waited to taste the sourness in his mouth. He checked his hands for the familiar fists that always formed when that particular memory blasted him. But, no. He splayed his fingers on his close-cut black dinner suit trousers. Interesting—that had to mark a watershed moment. It was the first time he could remember not wanting to smash his fist into his brother’s ribs for stealing his girl.

  He ran the image again. Nope. Nothing.

  He stood. He wanted—no, needed—a stroll. Wanted to take the night air in, no matter how hot and humid. Some men were going to go through to the ladies’ party soon, and he would be one of them. But first he needed some time to think. He had to get his head straight for the trip home.

  Once he and Georgia were on that flight back to the UK he might be wrapped up in the finer details of the deal and getting started on setting things in motion. He would need to clear his head before reuniting with his family. Though he couldn’t wait to see Frankie.

  She’d been his rock through every drama in his life. Though he had a feeling things were going a bit off-piste for her at the moment. She was being unusually quiet about her partnership with Rocco Hermida, the international polo player, entrepreneur and, as far as Danny could see, all-round idiot. But, God, she was defensive about him too.

  Anyway—that was her problem, her business. She’d have her nose in and about his as soon as he caught up with her. And if he’d thought he needed to be watertight and shipshape for Salim he was nothing compared to a Rottweiler like Frankie.

  He drained the last of his water and put his glass down on one of the thousand or so round white-linen-covered tables. Young boys were running around, playing chasing games and pretending to shoot one another. Kids were the same the world over.

  It had been the same for him and his brother. Back in the day when the worst thing he could expect his brother to do was tell tales. Not steal his girlfriend. When the most competitive they’d been was over who could run from the stables to the indoor arena fastest.

  Until it had become a game of who could net the prettiest girl. A game Mark had taken all too seriously. Danny shook his head. What a time that had been. He checked his hands again—still no fists. Still no bitter taste.

  ‘Your wife asked me to tell you that she has retired for the evening.’

  The message came from one of Salim’s staff.

  His wife. He felt an uncomfortable sensation in his gut. ‘Is she all right?’

  ‘Yes, sir—quite all right. But excessively tired. I believe she played with the youngest daughters and they would not let her rest.’ He smiled slightly, nodded and bowed himself away.

  Danny wanted to see her. Wanted to see her very, very badly.

  She’d been playing with the kids. Of course she had. He loved that about her—she was so far removed from the overly painted two-dimensional women he so often had to spend time with at parties here. Which was probably why he spent most of his time working, or playing rugby, or even volunteering. The glitz could sometimes leave him cold.

  He said his goodnights and made his way back through the palace. He had a good five-minute walk to get back to their apartments. What would Georgia have made of Ireland? he wondered. It was so far removed from here, or even London. And so many city girls would balk at the earthiness of the place—never mind the rain and the muck, the horses and the work.

  He smiled. She’d probably roll up her sleeves and get on with it. That seemed to be her way.

  Probably best not to continue with that line of thought, though—there was no chance it was going to happen. No. Georgia would be dropped off in London. She would not be going on with him to Ireland. What would be the point? For his mother to get her hopes up that he’d finally met a woman worth marrying? For his brother to judge and envy? For Frankie to bond with? Definitely not. It would just make the deconstruction of their marriage that much more difficult. Would serve absolutely no purpose whatsoever other than bring a little bit more of her company for him, because he did enjoy it. She’d lightened his days. So far.

  He opened the door of the suite of rooms they’d been allocated. A salon, a study, bathrooms and a bedroom.

  If Salim suspected them of cutting a business marriage he was being a sly old fox about it with this. It was fairyland—just as she’d like it. Oil lamps and candles lit a stardust path round the room.

  He padded in and closed the door softly. There was no sound. Nothing. But he sensed her. He stood, just absorbing the night that fell around him here, the heady feminine presence, the soft, sultry air.

  Sure she was in bed and sleeping, he slipped out of his shoes and went further in. The bedroom door was ajar. He moved noiselessly. She’d been awake for hours, playing her role to perfection, which couldn’t have been easy. And though he was on top of his game, because of the negotiations, Georgia must have been using as much nervous energy as he had himself to hold her own with Salim and his family.

  Salim’s wife was no slacker on the intellectual front—a graduate of Cambridge Unversity, she had specialised in international law before giving it up to have children. Maybe one day Georgia would also give up her job looking after other people’s children to look after her own.

  The bathroom mirror displayed his frown quite clearly. There he went again, speculating on things that really had nothing to do with him. What was it with these crazy little daydreams? Probably just his usual overwhelming need to control everything and everyone around him. The more time he spent with her the more she was getting under his skin. It was that simple—while she was around she was just another variable for him to manage and control. As soon as she was back in her own world he’d lose the need to worry about her.

  He braced his arms on yet more marble. What a day. He was bone-deep tired. He’d have a shower and then find a bit of floor to sleep on. They had another early start, checking over what the lawyers had scratched out, and then the rest of the day to relax. Assuming there was nothing to upset Salim.

  He stepped into the shower, and with water coursing over his shoulders and soap stinging his eyes let his mind drift away again. He should be feeling—what? Elated? Ecstatic? He was washing himself at the end of a day he’d been working towards for years. He was so close he could see the ink dry, smell the money, live the dream.

  He turned off the water and dragged a towel across his weary body. He’d neglected his fitness this past week—not that he was ever anything other than muscle and bone...the benefit of good genes and good health. But he couldn’t fool himself that the way Georgia’s eyes lit up when she had her hands on him and her mouth on him made him damn sure he’d go the extra mile to keep he
r happy.

  He tossed the towel down into a basket. There he went again. Daydreaming. Probably sleep-deprived on top of everything else. He went back into the lounge. Only the lamps still flickered their light. He went to each and doused the wicks.

  A space to sleep... He looked around. The sofas were not conducive to a man over six feet tall lying out. He looked at the floor—marble, overlaid with silk rugs here and there. He could suffer it—had slept on worse. He looked at the bedroom door, still ajar. Maybe there was another sofa in there, or at least some cushions he could put down.

  He walked in. And stopped dead.

  He was witnessing beauty—an oil-painted masterpiece. Red hair tumbled across the pillow. Pale, fine fingers dangled off the edge of the bed. An arm was bared and a shoulder peeped above the fine coverlet. And her face was serene in sleep.

  He stared. Traced the rest of her body’s lines and curves under the shelter of the sheet. The dip of her waist, the long stretch of her leg, bent. Her breathing slow and peaceful.

  He shook his head, smiled at his own weakness for her. A weakness he had clearly now mastered. He looked around for something—anything comfortable to lie on. Sat down on the edge of the huge bed, facing the door. Felt the weariness of his body. Twisted his sore muscles and laid himself down on the edge. Just five minutes and then he’d roll himself onto the floor.

  He closed his eyes. Heaven.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  SHOUTING, CHASING. HER CHEST bursting with each huge gulping breath. The pub in sight—please let me in, please let me in. Door—can’t find. Staring through the clouded windows. Blank faces, no one seeing, no one hearing. Louder and louder, closer and closer. They were nearly upon her. Please help me, please...

  Arms, wrapping, holding, soothing.

  ‘Georgia... Georgia...’

  She felt as if she was falling onto a huge warm bed. The urge to give in was so strong. She could let herself drown in this bed, in these arms. But where was she? Where was Babs? Where was home? She couldn’t let herself sink like this. It was too easy, too tempting. Run away, keep running, until she could find home.