CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER ONE
‘M Y DECISION HAS been made.’
Crown Prince Sahir of Janana’s deep voice caused a few shoulders to stiffen before his team rapidly stood up to bow. His appearance at the double doors to the dining room was a little unexpected—after all, he was supposed to be upstairs, preparing to attend a wedding.
His Belgravia home was elegant—a white stucco building with a balcony that ran from the lounge to the principal bedroom. To the rear, the gated garden offered secure elevator access to the main residence, and it was large enough to contain flats for staff.
Ultimately, though, when he was in London, it was Sahir’s home.
It didn’t feel that way this late morning.
His dining room, often used to host small receptions or private dinners, was serving this morning as a meeting room. The silver candelabras had been removed and the gleaming oak covered with a leather protector.
On Sahir’s way down from his rooms he had passed palace staff carrying his formal attire for tomorrow up to his dressing room.
Given Sahir’s main residence was the palace, he was more than used to staff coming and going there—but in London he had his own staff, as well as a hand-picked team that accompanied him.
The arrival here of the palace entourage felt like an intrusion.
Not only were they several hours early, but Aadil—now the King’s chief advisor—had joined them.
Aadil had been a thorn in Sahir’s side since childhood. There was a lot of history between the two men—decades worth—and in all that time there were few pleasant memories Sahir could summon.
It had been Aadil who had coldly informed him of the Queen’s death.
‘Your Highness,’ Sahir was greeted now, as he crossed the room and took a seat at the head of the table.
Even caught unawares, with his raven hair wet and his face unshaven, still there was no question that Sahir was the absolute authority as he signalled for them all to be seated before addressing the subject being debated.
‘Only minimal security is required today. What else?’ He turned to Pria, his private secretary.
‘Some minor revisions for tomorrow,’ she said, handing him an updated plan. ‘It’s a tight schedule. We need to leave here ten minutes earlier.’
‘I see.’
Sahir flicked through it, his dark eyes missing nothing, noting that other updates had been added beneath the names of certain guests now attending tomorrow’s function. Little prompts to aid conversation.
The King and Queen of a neighbouring kingdom had recently become grandparents again—good to know...he would offer congratulations.
Then he saw an added suggestion. Say Alf mabrook!
A thousand congratulations.
While a common saying, it seemed a little excessive—especially for the less than effusive Sahir.
He read on.
A sultan’s brother-in-law had passed away—he would offer his condolences on behalf of Janana.
But there was another prompt... Say Atueatif maeak —I take my sympathy to you.
Just a little more personal—personable, even?
And yet Sahir was neither.
‘Sir, should the opportunity present itself...’
Aadil started droning on about some other European royals who would be there tomorrow.
‘There was an exquisite gift sent for your birthday—a bejewelled gold amphora,’ he went on. ‘Perhaps a light reference...?’ He turned to Pria. ‘Do we have a photo?’
‘No need.’ Sahir raised his hand to halt Pria from searching through her tablet. ‘It will be just a brief greeting.’ He looked across the table to Aadil. ‘You will have people thinking I’m on something...’
His protection officer Maaz smothered a smile, and even Pria pinched her lips, trying not to giggle. Away from the palace Sahir was a touch lighter, with small flashes of his spirited and wilful mother a little more on display.
‘Sir...?’ Aadil frowned.
‘I thought a member of the Janana royal family must always be composed—not running around shaking hands, gushing...’
‘It’s a fine line, sir.’
‘Not for me.’ Sahir was not making light of things now—he could be as rigid and severe as his father. More so, even.
The sudden death of his mother had devastated Sahir, and had served as a rapid lesson in the merits of an icy demeanour and shielding his emotions.
There was a solid black line around his heart.
Impenetrable to all.
Unlike his father, he did not consult aides on his every move, nor meet endlessly with Hakaam, the ‘teller’ who read the skies.
Sahir relied upon himself.
If he needed wisdom or guidance then he went alone to the desert—sat with the land rather than searching for answers in long since burnt-out stars.
‘Gentle conversation, sir...’ Aadil persisted.
‘I am not gentle,’ Sahir reminded him. ‘However, I am a gentleman, and I shall greet all parties respectfully.’
They went through the rest of the plans for tomorrow. He would leave his residence at ten and join the motorcade forty-eight minutes later. He would be back by six p.m., and his flight for Janana would leave at eleven.
‘Thank you.’
He went to stand, but Aadil would not leave things there, the question of security clearly still on his mind.
‘Your Highness, I must emphasise the high-profile nature of these visitors.’
Sahir felt his jaw grit as Aadil spoke on.
‘It would be remiss of us not to increase security.’
‘The ceremony today is a private affair,’ Sahir responded calmly. ‘As for the reception—it’s little more than dinner. It’s a closed venue, with a select group of guests.’
Carter Bennett, his long-time friend, had in recent weeks married a virtual stranger. The happy couple were now hosting an intimate celebration of the event in London.
However, the post-wedding reception was so low-key that had Sahir not already been in London on royal business he’d have struggled to justify attending. His heavy schedule had for once worked in his favour, though, and he’d agreed to act as Carter’s best man. His duties were light. They included attending the cake-cutting at the bride’s mother’s nursing home, followed by dinner at a nearby restaurant.
The event was so informal he’d been told not even to prepare a speech.
Sahir did not want his presence there to be an issue, and told Aadil the same now. ‘Carter has his own security arrangements. Even so, he selected the venue with my requirements in mind.’ He turned to Maaz who, along with another officer called Layla, was on his protection team today. ‘You’re happy with things?’ he asked.
It was Layla who nodded. ‘The guests have all been vetted. Carter knows not to share your title. The restaurant has been swept and is being watched now, and I’ll relieve them as soon as the bridal party arrives. Maaz is about to head to the nursing home.’
‘Excellent,’ Sahir said. ‘As I have already stated—minimal security for today.’
His dark eyes held a strong warning as they met Aadil’s, almost daring him to challenge.
‘Sir...’ Aadil wisely acquiesced.
Sahir dismissed his team...for now.
Most of them were looking forward to an unexpected day off, but a select few remained—and of course Aadil lingered.
Apparently there was one final matter to deal with before Sahir dressed.
Faisal, his major-domo, placed a wedding congratulations card in front of him. Sahir went to take up the jewelled pen he used for royal matters, but then hesitated—after all this was personal.
So little was personal in Sahir’s life and so, even though it perhaps mattered not, he requested his preferred ballpoint pen—a twenty-first birthday gift from Carter.
‘What is the bride’s name?’ Sahir asked, pen poised.
‘Grace,’ Faisal said. ‘Although you could just put To the newlyweds... ’
‘Thank you.’
He loathed writing cards, and usually only his signature was required, but given it was Carter...
He wrote some fluff about wishing them every happiness for the future, then scrawled his name, pleased, for once, to leave out his title as Faisal briefed him about the wedding gift that had been selected.
‘A two-branch silver and rose gold candelabra from the Setarah collection. The bobèches depict—’
‘Thank you,’ Sahir interrupted.
He knew the collection. Several pieces were here in London, and while he might have quipped that he hoped the groom would get to keep it in the divorce, the thought wasn’t shared.
He made small talk only and never discussed personal matters.
With anyone.
Usually, he loathed giving his heritage away, but Carter, a skilled architect, was working with him on plans for the palace restoration, and would appreciate the treasure more than most.
With the card and gift sorted, he headed to the principal suite.
It was rather like dressing for a full English wedding, Sahir thought as he stood in his dressing room and Faisal handed him his attire.
‘Pity,’ Sahir commented quietly.
‘Sayyid...?’ Faisal queried.
‘It’s a shame that it’s just a quiet dinner and a few photos. I actually like a good English wedding.’
‘You have been to many,’ Faisal agreed.
Faisal helped him into the jacket of his morning suit and arranged the boutonniere on his lapel. An unusual choice, Sahir thought, glancing down at the lilac flower with peacock detail on some petals. To his mind it was rather too large...a touch inelegant, even...
But apparently it was a water hyacinth, and had been flown in from Borneo for the occasion. The bride had insisted, Carter had told him.
Of course she had.
The newly rich were very good when it came to making demands!
Once he was dressed and ready to collect the groom, Layla took Sahir through the final details.
‘I’ll follow behind. Both Maaz and I shall be outside the nursing home and later the restaurant. If the press arrives, or there are any security issues...’
‘There won’t be.’
Sahir was confident, but he understood his staff had to be sure and listened as Layla told him the updated security code for the private garden and the exit route at the restaurant.
Sahir memorised it easily, repeating it back as he pocketed the key he would use should the code fail.
His phone buzzed, and he saw that it was Carter calling. ‘I’m just on my way,’ he told him.
‘Change of plan,’ Carter informed him. ‘We’ll meet at the nursing home. Grace wants me to have some time with her mother prior to cutting the cake, to ensure she’s calm.’
‘Sure.’
‘And, Sahir... I know you think this is all about my grandfather’s will—’
‘Carter,’ he cut in, ‘it doesn’t matter what I think.’
‘Look, I know you’re not a fan of marriage...’
‘Nor were you.’
‘Things change, Sahir. People change.’
Sahir had no desire to change, though, and no desire for a cold marriage. And he certainly did not want love. He’d already managed to stall things—there was a private agreement in place with his father that the matter of his marriage would be addressed only when he turned forty.
Although now he was thirty-five, it seemed a little too close.
‘You got to choose your bride,’ Sahir said to his friend. ‘And I am sure you made a wise choice.’
‘I have,’ Carter said. ‘Hey, at least you get to choose your second...’
‘True.’ Sahir let the small joke pass, even if it irked. His friend knew a little of Janana’s royal ways, and he would never understand them. ‘Carter, you know I shall always wish you well.’
‘I do—but could you also extend that courtesy to Grace?’
‘Of course.’ Sahir wasn’t lying—he hoped that both parties got whatever it was they needed from this union. To him a marriage was as transactional as that. ‘I wish you both well.’
‘Good.’
‘And speeches?’ Sahir checked. ‘Are you sure you don’t want—?’
‘It’s an informal dinner,’ Carter interrupted swiftly. ‘No need for speeches.’
‘As you wish.’
‘I’ll meet you at the nursing home. Text me when you arrive.’
‘Certainly.’
‘Thanks,’ Carter added, ‘for managing to be here today.’
‘Of course,’ Sahir said.
‘It means a lot.’
Sahir frowned as the call ended. Carter sounded as if this marriage actually meant something to him.
But his cynical nature soon returned, and a black smile was on his face as he collected the card and gift Faisal had left out.
Of course this had nothing to do with love.
Driving out of the underground garage in his sleek silver car, he found that he was relieved for some time alone—a rarity for Sahir.
London was looking stunning—and yet he drove away from the gorgeous centre to the outer suburbs, occasionally glancing in the rear-view mirror to see Layla driving the car behind. Maaz, as arranged, was already parked opposite the nursing home.
Sahir pulled into the car park outside a very plain-looking building indeed. Layla followed him, parking a suitable distance away.
He glanced around for Carter, and was about to text that he was there when a taxi pulled up and a pair of black stilettoes peeked out, followed by a lot of purple silk.
Glancing in the rear-view mirror, he saw Layla idly leaning against her vehicle, though he knew she was watching carefully... It irritated Sahir. Why was everyone considered a threat? They would have already vetted the guests—discreet checks would have been made, the guest list gone through with a fine-tooth comb.
He was soon given a swift update by phone, and he glanced at Layla’s text.
Bridesmaid. Violet Lewis.
Sahir was sorely tempted to fire back that he’d rather worked that out—he doubted there were many calls for silk ball gowns on a Saturday afternoon around these parts. But, yes, the stunning dress was apt, given her name! The shade was violet, he corrected, not purple.
He thought it a vivid choice when he saw the woman’s colouring. Her skin was very pale, especially given it was early September and the end of summer. Her blonde hair was worn up, though there were tendrils blowing in the breeze. She had a purse on her wrist, and from that she took out her phone to pay the driver. She looked happy and carefree, completely unaware that she was being watched by his protection officers. She even laughed at something the driver said.
Sahir watched idly as she retrieved a carefully wrapped silver box with an awful lot of curled ribbons, and then laughed again. He found himself tempted to open the window a touch, mildly curious not so much about what was being said, more to discover the sound of her laughter.
She waved to the driver and then, with that same hand, lifted the hem of her gown and walked in her high heels across the rather dour car park. Her pale shoulders were exposed by the gown, and she moved with flair. She could be walking the red carpet and being photographed, rather than arriving unseen and avoiding potholes.
Sahir remained in his car, in no mood to make small talk with the bridesmaid, who was now peering through the glass door. Clearly the bride and groom weren’t in sight, for she fired off a message on her phone.
But then, as the taxi drove away, her demeanour rapidly changed.
When most women might be checking their appearance in a hand mirror, or perhaps pacing a little, instead those straight shoulders slumped and she leant against the wall and closed her eyes.
Formerly bright and breezy, she now cut a solitary figure in her gorgeous gown. A sad figure, even, because she’d placed a hand on her stomach, as if calming herself, and was muttering like an actress rehearsing her lines, getting ready to step into her role...
Sahir was suddenly on high alert. Possibly his staff were right...perhaps Violet Lewis was in fact a threat...
Though not the usual kind.
Sahir found that he wanted to go over to her and engage in some of that hated small talk.
For he sensed that he was glimpsing the true Violet Lewis.