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Claire dug her feet into her ridiculously fancy wedding shoes with pleasure and approached the giant chest by the wall. ‘The jewellery is in here?’
The chest was filled with boxes. Claire flipped a lid on the largest box on top and gasped at the rainbow reflections of the diamonds.
‘That necklace is perfect for your neckline,’ her companion declared.
The diamond necklace and the earrings that matched were donned.
‘There must be a tiara in here, more than one, I would assume. Shewasa queen.’
‘A tiara would be over the top for me,’ Claire demurred.
‘But not for a princess and Raif has organised a photographer,’ Stella warned her, surprising her in turn.
A tiara was indeed located with ease and Claire allowed her companion to anchor it above the short veil at the back of her head. Nerves clogged her throat as she surveyed her reflection because, with all those diamonds and clad in her dream gown, she barely recognised herself. That disturbing title ‘Princess’ struck her as more threatening than something to which she might have aspired because she knew herself to be absolutely ordinary in every way.
They went downstairs into a large room where Raif and two other men awaited them. As she was introduced to Stella’s husband, Kashif, and the minister present to perform their ceremony, Claire only had eyes for Raif, resplendent in a morning suit, a pearl-grey cravat at his throat to match the cummerbund round his narrow waist, a custom-made jacket with a tail outlining his splendid physique. He looked amazing, she thought. Well, he always looked amazing, but he contrived to look especially amazing in that garb, his black hair gleaming above his stunning eyes, his strong jawline freshly shaven, framing his wide, sensual mouth. For an instant, she really couldn’t credit that he was about to marryher. He reached for her hand with his easy smile and led her over to the table that had been topped with a giant floral arrangement. He looked down at her as though she were the only woman in the world.
It was a short and sweet ceremony, but Claire listened to every word and exchanged rings with Raif in breathless wonder that they were actually becoming man and wife.
Raif studied her with mesmerising dark golden eyes. In that highly feminine dress, she was every dream woman he had ever had and Kashif had done everything he had asked him and more in preparation for their wedding. Sadly for Claire’s sake, there were only two guests, he acknowledged, but there had to be some drawbacks to a secret event.
‘That was wonderful,’ she told him brightly as their hosts led them to the rear garden with its ornamental box-hedged flowerbeds for the photographer to take advantage of the setting.
‘You look fantastic,’ Raif whispered only loud enough for her to hear.
More colour warmed her already flushed cheeks and her blue eyes sparkled with pleasure. ‘I wasn’t expecting a Christian minister and ceremony,’ she whispered back.
‘I wanted you to be comfortable,’ Raif responded.
And she ate sparingly of the delicious dinner that followed because she was lost in a reverie. There had never been a man in her life, including her late father, who had worried so much about what would makeherhappy. She had never enjoyed such thoughtful consideration. Yet Raif had had her injured cat treated and had had Claire ferried back and forth on pet visits, which others might reasonably have deemed unnecessary. He had ensured she had new clothes for her future role, and he had even had his late mother’s jewellery collection offered to her for use. Yet he made no demands on her whatsoever.
She decided that he was the most unselfish person she had ever met and that melted her heart, because there could be few men as rich and in possession of a superyacht who, in his position, would have made so much silent, kind effort on her behalf. And he always brushed away any attempt to thank him.
‘You’ve made it a wonderful day,’ she murmured.
‘That was the goal,’ he confided with satisfaction.
Below the table, she rested a hand on a lean thigh and petted him as though he were a cat, unable to express her gratitude in any other way. His hand came down briefly over hers and then shifted again and she took the hint and retrieved her own. No, Raif was never ever going to be demonstrative in front of others, she reflected fondly. No PDAs from him!
Claire knew that she was already halfway in love with the man she had married. She had never met a man like him, never dreamt he could even exist, and now here she was with his wedding ring on her finger, and she could not believe that fortune had smiled on her to such an extent. Mentally she was listing his every plus and those pluses just kept on mounting in number.
Raif was thinking that even the touch of her tiny hand on his thigh was too much for him to bear. He was already as hard as a rock. He wanted to defy every civil, social tenet to snatch her away somewhere private where he couldtouchher. He had genuinely not appreciated that one foray into the world of sex would leave him so agonisingly needy because in every other field he was very controlled, very cool and unfailingly practical. Claire, however, punched buttons he hadn’t known he had. Just a smile, a bright glance from those eyes of hers, the peachy pout of her lips when she laughed, and she laughed frequently, unlike most of the people he knew. Being with Claire felt vaguely to him like being in the sunshine all the time, where all the usual things that worried him miraculously vanished.
It was after ten that evening when Raif smoothly extracted them from their hosts’ convivial company. He explained that they would be spending the night in the suite of rooms created for his father at the embassy when he first became King. As a young man King Jafri had happily travelled abroad.
‘And then there was apparently some kind of scandal with a young woman that had to be hushed up and he never left Quristan again,’ Raif informed her wryly, opening a door into a large formal drawing room. ‘It soured him on travel, foreigners and tourists as well.’
‘Not a forgiving person,’ Claire gathered as he opened the door into the most grandiose bedroom she had ever seen.
A gilded four-poster bed, garnished with scarlet and gold drapes, sat on a polished dais at the far end of the room, rather resembling something that she thought might have featured in a big-budget royal film. ‘Oh, my goodness...arewegoing to spend the night in that monstrosity?’ She gasped.
‘Yes, it is a monstrosity, isn’t it?’ Raif agreed with humour, relieved it wasn’t only him who found his father’s taste for medieval splendour weird in modern times. ‘But this is where I have to sleep when I stay here. Kashif tells me that it’s an exact replica of my father’s bed in the palace. I’ve never been in his wing of the palace, so I wouldn’t know.’
Claire was reminded by that remark that he had been denied a close relationship with his surviving parent. That he had never seen his father’s private quarters said it all.
‘Do you want anything to drink?’ Raif enquired, hovering beside the drinks cabinet.
‘No, thanks. After that elaborate meal, I’m full,’ she quipped, moving over to the ornate gilded dresser to begin removing her diamond jewellery.
