The Scandal Behind the Wedding

by Bella Frances

  He looked at her—properly this time. ‘So now you know. I nearly killed my own brother in a jealous rage. Not something you really want to put on your CV.’

  She lay down beside him, hoping he’d get some comfort from the heat of her body, still not quite sure of the words that would make him stop this self-hatred.

  He didn’t touch her. She didn’t attempt to touch him. The bridge of trust could still be so easily crumbled. She’d let him take the lead.

  ‘Funny... Up until yesterday—’ he turned his face, so close she could see the navy flecks in his eyes ‘—and I mean yesterday—I couldn’t even say their names without having a physical reaction. My own shame, but still the anger, like a beast. You’ve no idea, Georgia, how much work it took for me not to punch the nearest wall whenever I heard their names.’

  She ventured a slight move towards him. She needed to as much for her own sake as his now. ‘I think I saw that in Indigo. When Ciaran teased you about marrying before your brother.’

  She trailed a finger lightly down his arm. He didn’t flinch or move away.

  ‘Knowing all this now—I suppose you handled it as well as you could.’

  He swallowed. ‘Maybe. But it still wasn’t great. People should be able to ask me about my family without me erupting and walking out.’

  She took another risk—put her arms across his chest and laid her head there too. He shifted, but it was to wrap her up, to cradle her.

  ‘And you brought it all out again. The jealousy. It’s still there, even after all this time and all those months of...’ he put his fingers up, made air quotes ‘...“working things through”. Imagining scenarios and working out solutions before they happened. Didn’t work you out, though, did they?’

  She scooted right over him. Their nakedness was now as easy as breathing. She straddled him, held the sides of his face, and looked long and deep into those eyes.

  ‘You’re so honest—with yourself, with me. And you’ve got more skill and talent and energy than anyone I’ve ever met.’ She dipped down to kiss him. ‘You’ve already conquered nearly every demon. You’ve pulled us out of a near disaster, you’ve netted this deal...’ She sat up, looked round at the room they were in. ‘You’re a part of this world now, Danny. One day you’ll have a home like this too—one day soon!’

  ‘A palace can be a mausoleum, Georgia—if the right people aren’t in it.’

  Those words she let slide right over her. He didn’t mean her. So she wouldn’t get all caught up in what he did mean. She would do instead what came very naturally, very easily, and kiss him.

  * * *

  The photo call was arranged for after lunch. A crew had arrived—big enough, it seemed, to make a movie never mind take a picture.

  Hair and make-up already done, Georgia walked into the state room which had been allocated for the shoot. Sheikh Salim, his wife, who had been utterly, perfectly charming, and their children were all going to be pictured.

  The whole event was being seen as the first publicity for this project—United Arab Leisure—and the construction of facilities that would be world-leading for every conceivable sport, every necessary environment. And as well as the usual leisure facilities and shopping malls that were part and parcel of UAE life there would be jobs created for five thousand workers—well-paid jobs, with good conditions, accommodation and education. No more slave labour.

  These two giants of Dubai society were combining forces to ensure it. Salim’s wealth and Danny’s ingenuity.

  And the PR icing? A wedding. With the perfect bride.

  Georgia wore white. Not blinding virginal white but a soft ivory dress and jacket. Fitted, elegant, off the peg, but still so much more than she could have ever afforded before. She had dressed with a tinge of sadness. This would possibly be her one and only wearing of this outfit. She didn’t think she’d have the heart to give it another airing. And Babs was a totally different body shape, so it wasn’t as if she could take this and the other clothes. A charity shop donation would possibly be best...

  They arranged themselves in the state room. Salim sat on a throne-like chair in full traditional dress, his wife to his left. To his right, catching her eye as soon as he walked through the door, was Danny. He wore the darkest grey, the whitest shirt and a tie with flashes of blue almost as vibrant as his eyes. His hair was tidy and his face clean-shaven. And he wore a look that told the world he was in charge.

  She took her place beside him, in a constant state of minor turmoil that she was living a lie—albeit a temporary one. This event should be about their deal, the good news, the progress, but it was being overshadowed by a wedding that was already on its descent path.

  ‘You look beautiful, Mrs Ryan. I can hardly make out the dark circles under your eyes...’ he murmured into her ear.

  ‘Thank you, Mr Ryan. Your own scrubbing up has produced excellent results also.’

  They had stayed in bed until forced to get up at midday. From waking in the early hours they had made love. Then dozed off and on. She didn’t think it would have been possible to tune her body to his any more, or for her to have had greater pleasure than she’d had—than he’d given her. And she knew that if they’d had the whole day free they would have still been in bed. She’d known the sexual chemistry between them was good—amazing—but it had been above and beyond her wildest dreams. And there. Time to burst another happiness bubble.

  A journalist had booked some time with them. Time to rehash their tried and tested story. What Georgia hadn’t counted on was a reference to the photographs taken at the Al-Jafar.

  ‘So the world first learned about your romance when pictures of you were released causing an internet sensation?’

  Georgia stared blankly. This wasn’t supposed to be an investigative piece—it was an exclusive feature for a glossy magazine—so she should have had no fear that she would be under any real scrutiny.

  She opened her mouth to rebuff the question, but Danny cut in first.

  ‘Indeed. We would have preferred that this photo shoot was our first—however, not every journalist is as scrupulous as those working at your magazine. So rumours arose and our preferred option was not to comment—lending weight to idle gossip is not my preferred MO. What else would you like to talk about?’

  * * *

  Photo shoot, interview and all pretence over, Danny strode through the palace, loosening his tie and growling.

  ‘I should have briefed them in advance. They should have been told what was and what wasn’t off-limits.’

  He paused, realising that she couldn’t keep up with him in her heels and tight dress.

  ‘Sorry, Georgia. I can’t believe I didn’t see that one coming. You weren’t too thrown?’

  ‘I’m fine,’ she replied, catching up as he waited at the door to their suite. ‘You can’t see everything coming, Danny. Some things just happen, despite all the risk assessments you do. Life can’t always go according to your schedules and plans.’

  He strode ahead again, wrenching off the tie, tossing it down on the back of a sofa, sloughing off his jacket and discarding it with barely more care onto a chair.

  ‘Not in my world. Life goes entirely to plan. That way there’s no room for error. And when a curveball does come you make another plan.’

  She slipped out of her shoes, took off her rings and placed them on the coffee table. Almost casually.

  ‘Like this? This whole fake marriage?’

 
She didn’t wait for an answer. She was tired. Tired of keeping up appearances, tired after making love for hours and tired of the emotions that were rolling through her. Worry, anxiety, shame, guilt...and the growing feelings she had for Danny. Feelings that she now knew for certain were going to be with her long after this wedding weekend had passed.

  He stood watching her, clearly taken aback by her comment. ‘Yes, exactly like this.’

  ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I’m just being churlish. And grumpy.’

  She walked through to the shower, turned it on. Took off her pretty silk satin jacket and dress, hung them carefully on their hanger and stood in her underwear, looking at him.

  He was following her about, frowning. ‘It’s a bit late now to say you’re unhappy.’

  She sighed. ‘I’m not saying that. I’m just trying to make a point that not everything will always go to plan—and this is a clear example. I mean, I knew that we shouldn’t sleep together, but we did—and there wasn’t a plan in the world that would have stopped that happening.’

  ‘Are you regretting that too?’

  She aimed for nonchalance, tied up her hair, took off her earrings. Tried hard not to be cowed by the blast from his furnace.

  ‘No, Danny. I’m not. How could I regret one second of it? It was amazing. And I’ll deal with the fallout—in time.’

  He walked over to her in two strides, catching up with her as she was about to go into the shower. ‘You’re not the only one who’s going to experience the fallout, Georgia. I’m in this with you, and what we’ve done—joining forces for the business as well as the physical side—it’s been...amazing.’

  The bathroom was steamy. Her head was muggy.

  He followed her right in.

  ‘I know that it’s not going to just disappear the minute we go our separate ways. I can’t even look at you in your underwear or let you go for a shower without wanting to grab you and make love to you. So I’m fully with you on that.’

  He turned on the full force of his presence. She was getting the whole works. She knew his ways well enough now to know that he saved this for when he really wanted something. Question was—what did he want?

  ‘Georgia...’

  He moved towards her, still in shirt and trousers, but looking dishevelled and sexy and hot. Was he thinking she’d need some super-persuasion to want to sleep with him again? Because even if her common sense told her not to her body had been lit up from within and already craved and responded to his presence—never mind his touch.

  ‘I think we have more talking to do. I think we should have a proper discussion—about us.’ He started to unbutton his shirt. ‘Later.’

  She should be stronger. She should tell him that they didn’t need to discuss anything. What would be the point? If she was cynical she would say it might at best be an attempt for him to keep his little Georgia ducks lined up. But she was weak where Danny Ryan was concerned.

  Her sense of self-preservation had to be strong, though. And she’d already decided that she would have this indulgence, pay the price, draw a line and then move on. Just how long all that would take was the unknown quantity.

  ‘Georgia... That lovely silk underwear is going to get all wet.’

  He was completely out of his clothes now. Virile. That was what she saw when she looked at him.

  ‘It’s already wet.’

  She didn’t mean it to sound in any way enticing. But the gleam in his eyes told her he’d taken it that way. He took another step towards her, took off her bra and panties and took her in the shower.

  CHAPTER NINE

  SOMETHING WAS UP. A missed call from Mark. It had been years since they had even been in the same room, and he was calling now—leaving a voicemail? Danny stared at the phone in his hand as if he’d never seen it before, surprised that he didn’t want to hurl it into a wall.

  He hadn’t even recognised the number, but the minute the message began to play and he’d heard that voice...

  ‘Danny, hi. It’s me, Mark—I wonder if you would give me a call back, I’m worried...’

  He’d clicked it off. Hadn’t been able to bring himself to listen to any more.

  He looked out of the window to the lap pool on his terrace. His terrace. His house. Showpiece of everything he’d worked so hard to achieve. Designed for him and every dirham paid by him through the blood, sweat and tears of ten years in the desert. Ten years proving that he amounted to more than the human volcano who’d nearly killed his own brother.

  He’d built up an empire out here—he was respected, admired, valued. And he’d just put the cherry on top of the whole damn cake. The Sheikh’s deal was signed, sealed and soon to be delivered. They’d got the whole thing wrapped up within two days and then he’d brought Georgia back here. Back here to get things organised, get her stuff packed, say goodbye to her girlfriends and her kindergarten kids and get all her other loose ends tied up in a neat little bow.

  Four days. Four intoxicating days.

  He’d thought having her in his house would become cloying, annoying—and in time, of course, it would. She was the first woman even to make it past his front door. But the sweet, hot thrill of her sweet, hot body next to his whenever he wanted it was still doing it for him. He had even been prepared to take off for a few days. Whatever she fancied—Indian Ocean, Europe, even one of the spa hotels out in the desert. But, no, she’d been resolute. Even determined. Her heart belonged to London. She was pining for her sister and the rain!

  He knew she was right. The sand timer was trickling with borrowed time—there were only days left before the last grains fell and their lives as they’d known them before started up again.

  Georgia.

  She walked out onto the terrace, right up to the pool and dived in. Sleek and skilled. As she was at everything. He watched her strike out in steady lengths, up and down. Then she leaned on the edge, pushed herself up and out and just as gracefully emerged, dripping onto the deck. She twisted her hair into a coil and wrung it out. Brushed drips off her legs with her hands and then turned, caught him staring, and flashed him that big toothy grin.

  What was he supposed to do with that? It was a smile that instantly made him smile right back. A flash of that body that instantly made him want to grab it. He lifted his arm and waved.

  She gestured for him to come out and join her. In their two days at Salim’s and the four days here he’d joined her in almost everything. It had been as close to a honeymoon as he could let his mind wrap itself around.

  He’d got all caught up in the party atmosphere at the palace. Slipping more and more away from who he really was into who he was pretending to be. A happily married man. A man who believed in the sanctity of marriage. A man who had promised himself and the world that he’d put his faith and trust in one woman.

  But he couldn’t live that mirage. He could never trust again. The only person he could rely on was himself. And the jealous rages he’d felt flaring up when he’d been with her told him he might not be able to truly rely on himself either. The only option was the life he’d once had—Al-Jafar penthouse weekends with no-strings-attached women. And it had served him pretty well up until one week ago.

  She was still staring at him, smiling blithely, expectantly. She grabbed up the bottle of sun cream that was never far away and held it out, turned her back to him, mouthed the words Rub cream on my back and winked coyly over her shoulder.

  That was the problem. He’d like nothi
ng more. That silky skin, his cream-slicked hands slipping all over it, right down to her bikini briefs, under, smoothing over her perfect cheeks and then up, laying her down, undoing her bikini, massaging her breasts, tightening her nipples... And then nothing surer than slipping his hand between her legs and rubbing her hot, wet bud into a hot, wet climax.

  His hand gripped the phone. Tightly. He wanted her so badly it frightened him.

  But that voicemail had pierced the dream—burned like acid. Reminded him of home and heartache. And, much as he hated it, he had to deal with it. Whatever Mark had called to say, it had to be important.

  He shook his head, held the phone up, mouthed On a call, turned away. The slight slip of her smile was a harsh jab to his gut. And there would be more to come.

  He pressed the missed call’s number and waited. Something close to nausea bubbled inside him.

  A dial tone.

  That voice.

  ‘Mark Ryan.’

  ‘You called me. What for?’

  A pause.

  ‘Hey, Danny. Thanks for phoning back. It’s good to hear from you.’

  ‘Yeah? Get to the point.’

  Another pause. The bile in his throat was just staying down—just.

  A sigh. ‘It’s Frankie. Nothing to panic about. I’m sure she’s all right. But...’

  ‘But what?’ He felt himself slip into anger, felt the beast in his stomach growl. ‘What’s wrong?’ he demanded.

  ‘Look, would you just calm down? Nothing is wrong—nothing that I can be sure of. Yet. I think she’s gone to ground. And I think you’re probably the only one she’ll turn to.’