Page 80 of The Work Husband

We’re here, Georgia. Is everything all right?

All set. Good luck!

A few moments later, I heard the soft chime of the elevator. The doors slid open, and a couple emerged. I’d only seen Okan over Zoom before, and I was struck by how handsome he was. His glossy hair fell in a tumble of curls over the olive skin of his forehead, a perfectly trimmed beard accentuated his chiselled jaw, and his eyes were a striking shade of turquoise. Best of all was his smile – shy and tentative but as warm as sunshine, amping up a notch as he caught my eye.

I didn’t look at him for long, though, because I clocked the woman on his arm and gawped at her, immobile as if I was playing a game of musical statues and someone had pressed pause.

She was spectacular. Small and slender with skin as even and smooth as honey. She was wearing a peacock-blue silk dress that fitted like it had been made for her. Her face was flawlessly made-up, an emerald stud glittering from a piecing in her nose. Beneath her headscarf, I could see masses of piled-up hair.

But, like Okan’s, it was her smile that held my attention. She looked radiantly happy, bubbling with excitement at the prospect of a fabulous evening with the man she clearly adored, even though she couldn’t have known about the surprise that was about to be sprung on her.

Zahra.

When she noticed me, she gave a little gasp and released Okan’s arm. Seconds later, she was hurrying across the deep carpet in her high heels, arms outstretched.

‘Georgia! I never knew it was you who’d organised all this!’

‘Zahra! Oh my God, I had no idea it was all for you.’

‘Thank you so much! We’ve had the most amazing time.’

‘I think your evening’s about to get even better.’ Smiling, I steered her back to Okan before returning to my spot in the corner. I watched as the string quartet began to play and a waiter emerged to present the canapés and pour the champagne, my mind whirring.

This was why Zahra had been so devastated at the prospect of an arranged marriage – she was already in love with someone else. Sweet, smiling Okan, who must have been a fellow student at Cambridge. Had she persuaded her parents to call off the marriage they wanted for her? Perhaps they’d allowed her this time with Okan as a sort of last hurrah before she returned to Riyadh and settled down. But somehow I doubted that, and I realised that Okan’s proposal plans could get badly derailed, not by any failure of planning on his part or mine, but by Zahra’s sense of duty to her family.

Helpless, I watched as Okan led Zahra over to the arch of flowers. The sun was setting, turning the champagne in their glasses to molten gold. In just a moment, its rays would illuminate the giant diamond, hidden for now in its leather box. The two of them stood together, silhouetted by amber light, the music soaring around them.

Okan reached out and pocketed the box, Zahra too transfixed by him to notice. Then he took her left hand in both of his and dropped down on to one knee. Zahra gasped with wonder.

But then I heard the lift doors chime again and a couple burst in.

The man was in a floor-length white thobe, the woman in a black niqab and abaya identical to the ones Zahra had worn when I first met her.

‘What are you doing here, my girl?’ thundered the man.

‘And what are you wearing?’ his wife demanded, almost sending the string quartet flying as she dashed across the room. ‘Do you have no shame?’

‘And drinking alcohol,’ raged the man. ‘When your father hears about this⁠—’

Okan’s eyes were wide with shock. He made as if to scramble to his feet, but Zahra shook her head. She touched his cheek briefly, then turned towards them. I couldn’t see her face because the light was behind her, but from the set of her shoulders I knew what it must look like.

My own feet felt almost frozen to the floor. Ahmet and Farida were Devereaux Partners’ clients, and displeasing them could cost me my job. But Okan was a client too, and this particular event was on his account. Before I could even begin to form a plan of action, though, Zahra spoke.

‘It’s zero per cent, Uncle Ahmet.’ She sounded perfectly calm. ‘And Auntie Farida, like my mum used to say, I wear modesty in my heart.’

‘You’ll wear it on your face and body from now on, you wicked girl,’ hissed Farida.

‘And when Hamza finds out about this, you’ll be sorry,’ raged Ahmet. ‘You’ll be on a plane to Riyadh tomorrow morning. We’ve let you have too much freedom, and now look what’s happened. I’ll⁠—’

But Zahra didn’t let him finish. ‘It’s lovely to see you, Auntie and Uncle. But perhaps we can talk in a few minutes? I’m rather busy right now. Someone get them a drink and some snacks.’

She waved a hand, and waiters leaped into action. After a duff note or two, the string quartet bravely resumed.

‘I’m so sorry about the interruption, Okan,’ Zahra said. ‘Please do go on. I’ll introduce you all properly in just a moment.’

Okan cleared his throat. His voice came out croaky and hesitant at first, then gained confidence as he spoke.

‘Zahra, you’re the most wonderful woman I’ve ever known – the most wonderful I could ever imagine. You’re brave and brilliant and beautiful. I’m in awe of your courage, your independence and your commitment to your studies, as well as your devotion to your family. I love you, and I hope you’ll do me the honour of becoming my wife.’