know how we’ve been spending time with Khaled—and he’s such a good friend to you? And…’ she paused, sucking in air ‘…to me?’ Sam nodded, still looking suspicious. ‘Well…what would you think, Sam, if Khaled was your daddy? If you called him Daddy from now on?’
A look of incredulous delight passed over Sam’s face like sunlight, and then suddenly he frowned. ‘Is he my daddy?’
How did three-year-olds know to ask such pressing, to-the-point questions? ‘Yes.’ She nodded. ‘Yes, Sam, he is.’
She waited for a barrage of further questions: why didn’t you tell me before? Where has he been? But perhaps such nuances were beyond him. It was unimportant now, anyway. A delighted smile brightened Sam’s face and he hopped off the bed, ready to swim. ‘Cool.’
And that was that, Lucy thought bemusedly as she walked with Sam down to the pool. He’d accepted Khaled—even living in Biryal—with insouciance and ease.
If only she could do the same.
Khaled was waiting for them by the pool, dressed in a formal thobe and bisht. He looked tense, and Lucy gave him a bemused smile.
‘Sam’s thrilled.’
‘Is he?’ Sam seemed to have forgotten their conversation, for he greeted Khaled as he always did before plunging into the pool. ‘Hadiya will watch him now,’ Khaled said, gazing at Sam as he splashed and played. ‘There is a press conference we both need to attend.’
‘A press conference?’ Lucy repeated, feeling sick. Khaled’s eyes narrowed.
‘Yes. You should be used to them, from your days with the England team.’ He made it sound as if those days were past—and perhaps they were. Lucy couldn’t quite imagine returning to her old life, her old job; not now. Perhaps not ever.
‘I know, but this is different—’
‘Not really. Reporters ask questions, we answer them.’
‘Do we?’ Her voice sharpened. ‘Honestly?’
‘I don’t suppose they need to know the details.’ Khaled’s voice was cool. ‘It would certainly help Sam if we could play the loving couple.’
Play. Pretend. Because none of this was real.
Lucy nodded. ‘Fine.’
The press conference was held on one of the wide terraces of the palace. Dressed in a cool linen sheath and low heels—both had been provided by a professional stylist—her hair swept up into an elegant chignon, Lucy faced the cameras and questions with a calm, smiling Khaled at her side.
As soon as they came onto the terrace, the cameras flashed and the questions came in an impossible cacophony of sound. Lucy couldn’t distinguish one question from the other, and she blinked and squinted in the glare of the cameras’ lights, but Khaled seemed entirely unfazed.
She merely heard words—when, child, wedding, love—while he answered questions.
He held up one hand to silence the journalists. ‘The wedding will be here in Biryal, in a fortnight.’
Another battery of questions. Lucy blinked. Khaled smiled. ‘Of course I love my wife. This marriage is a long time coming…for both of us.’ His arm came round her waist, pulling her unresistingly to him. Her head fell back as she looked up at him, met his smiling gaze, sensed the hardness underneath. ‘Isn’t that right, darling?’
A smile stretched across her face. She felt sick with nerves, yet even so an answering flame sparked in her belly. ‘Of course.’ Khaled brushed her lips with his, the barest of kisses, but it caused the mob of journalists to cheer and howl with delight. Khaled moved away, and Lucy righted herself as best she could.
She didn’t hear any more questions, barely felt conscious of herself. It was so surreal, so impossible that this was happening. This was her life. Would she ever get used to it?
Khaled took her hand and drew her back inside, dropping it as soon as the reporters and cameras were out of sight.
Lucy felt suddenly bereft, and miserably she answered his question: no, she wouldn’t.
SUNLIGHT shimmered on a placid sea the morning of Lucy’s wedding. She stood in front of the window, watching dawn break and bathe a pearly grey sky in a pale, luminescent pink.
She took a deep breath of the cool, fresh air and let it fill her lungs, buoy her heart.
Today was her wedding day. No matter how strained and artificial things had become between her and Khaled, no matter how convenient and sensible their marriage, today was real and she wanted to enjoy it. She wanted it to be beautiful.
Lucy turned to glance at her wedding dress, a simple silk sheath in ivory that she’d picked from a book of designs and had made by a seamstress on the island. Its nod to Arabic culture was a pattern of vines picked out in gold thread along the bodice, also giving the elegant gown an exotic feel. Her head she would leave bare, her hair down like a girl’s.
A knock sounded, and her mother poked her head round the bedroom door. Dana Banks had arrived two days ago, and Lucy was grateful for her mother’s strong, comforting presence. She’d kept silent about her concerns for this marriage in light of its pressing reality. Lucy hadn’t invited anyone else to the wedding; really, there was no one else to invite. She’d thought briefly of Eric, who had been both her friend and Khaled’s, but it seemed that relationship was over now.
So many things were changing, ending. But, she told herself, stroking the silk of her gown, some things were beginning too…for better or for worse.
‘Did you sleep well?’ Dana asked, and Lucy grimaced wryly.
‘Not really. But Sam is still dead to the world—he has no idea what’s going on, just that it’s exciting.’
Dana gave a little smile. ‘It’s probably better that way.’
‘Yes.’ She and Khaled would spend one night at the palace, and then they were going on honeymoon. It was meant to be a surprise; Khaled had not told her the destination.
‘You should eat,’ Dana said. ‘Keep up your strength. It’s going to be a long day.’
And it was. The wedding was not taking place until late afternoon, yet the hours before the event were filled with activity—preparations, photographs, conversations with visiting dignitaries and royals. The wedding might have been planned in only a fortnight, but Khaled had still managed to bring together a dazzling array of guests eager for a show.
And that was what it felt like, Lucy thought—a spectacle. And she was at its dizzying centre.
All too soon it was time for the ceremony. Lucy stood in front of her mirror, dressed in the simple gown, liking the way it gently hugged her figure before swirling out around her ankles. Hadiya had taken Sam down to the formal reception room where the wedding was to take place, and Lucy was alone with Dana.
‘Lucy…are
