The more she found out about Zethlehan and the more she discovered about the power of the royals there, the more acute her terror became.
‘Pregnant?’
‘Yes,’ Gabi had said to her mother.
It was a gorgeous spring morning.
Gabi had come from a weekend at the stunning Castelli vineyard, where the wedding had gone off beautifully, and she had told herself it was time. It had taken three months for Gabi to finally find the courage to tell her mother.
‘Who is the father?’ Carmel had asked.
And when Gabi had not answered, her mother had slapped her cheek.
Carmel, herself a single mother, had never wanted the same struggle for her only child.
‘There go your dreams,’ Carmel had said.
‘No.’
Gabi knew things would be difficult but she was determined that her dreams would continue. It was her lack of contact with Alim that felt like an insufferable loss.
She had not told him about the baby.
Her mother assumed that because Gabi did not say who the father of her child was, it meant that she did not know.
Now Gabi was almost glad that she had been unable to tell Alim.
She was scared.
Not so much of his reaction, more the repercussions.
Sultan Alim of Zethlehan.
Sultan Elect.
He was next in line to the throne and the more she read about his kingdom the more she feared him. Alim was more powerful than she could fathom. His country was rich, extremely prosperous, and the royalty adored. There was a brother and a sister. Alim was the eldest and one day he would be Sultan of Sultans.
Gabi did not know how an illegitimate baby would be dealt with.
Her only reference point was Fleur, and she would never allow herself to become her, Gabi swore.
Though perhaps she was doing Alim an injustice?
On several occasions, Gabi had walked past the Grande Lucia, trying to find the courage to go in. Sometimes she would speak with Ronaldo and pretend that she was merely passing.
A couple of times she had plucked up the courage to go in but now Alim’s royal status was known, security around him was tighter.
‘Is Alim here?’ Gabi asked Anya.
‘Do you have an appointment?’ Anya checked, when once she would have simply nodded or shaken her head, or picked up the phone to alert him.
‘No,’ Gabi said. ‘I don’t.’
‘Then I can see if Marianna is available.’
‘It’s fine.’ Gabi shook her head and, turning, looked over to the lounge and thought of Fleur, sitting alone and unacknowledged, and she thought too of James.
She did not want that life for her child, though it probably wasn’t even an option to them. The Sultan of Sultans loved Fleur, whereas Alim had coldly ended things the morning after a night in his bed.
He had also told her to take the morning-after pill, not once, not twice, but three times.
Gabi was scared but determined to cope, for now, alone.
And so the next person she had told was Bernadetta.
And Bernadetta’s reaction had been one of pure spite.
She resented that she would be paying for maternity leave and decided to get her money’s worth while she could.
Every wedding that Bernadetta could, she passed over to Gabi.
Each teary bride or stressed call from the mother of said bride, Gabi dealt with.
And the most recent couple had barely left the church before Bernadetta skived off. Gabi barely had time to think, she was so busy working as Bernadetta became increasingly demanding.
‘I don’t want you showing,’ she said when Gabi asked about wearing a dress for work rather than the hated suit.
It was the middle of summer and the weight had fallen off Gabi—or rather she had not, to her doctor’s concern, put any on. Always curvy, at close to seven months pregnant she barely showed, but that wasn’t good enough for Bernadetta.
‘Our clients want to think your mind is on the job, not on a baby.’
‘It is on the job,’ Gabi insisted.
But the heavy suit remained. The only concession was that she wore the cream cowl-necked top out of the waistband.
And concealing her pregnancy as best she could was perhaps wise, for all too soon it was the wedding at the Grande Lucia that she had taken on the day the bottom had fallen out of her world.
Not that Alim would notice her, and neither was she likely to see him.
He was barely around any more. Ronaldo had told her that he had moved back to Zethlehan and, sadly, the Grande Lucia was now on the market.
The staff were all worried for their jobs.
It was still beautiful, though, Gabi thought as, on the Friday before the wedding, she went for a breakfast meeting with Marianna in her office.
First they spoke about the timings of the big day and the arrival of the cars and photographers and such things.
Gabi’s main focus was the wedding.
For Marianna, although the wedding was important, she was also dealing with the comfort of the other hotel guests and ensuring that they were not inconvenienced too much.
Again, Gabi pushed for a change to the flowers in the foyer.
‘No, there has always been a red floral display.’ Marianna shook her head and refused to budge on the issue. ‘Our return guests like the familiarity.’
‘But don’t you want to attract new guests?’
Marianna pursed her lips as Gabi pushed on. ‘Some of the hotels I work with actually organise in advance for their floral displays to tie in with the bridal theme...’
‘The Grande Lucia does not compete with other hotels,’ Marianna said. ‘We’re already at the top.’
Thanks to Alim, Gabi thought.
And Marianna was arrogant in her assumption that just because they were successful they could ignore competition.
For a very long while, before Alim had taken over, the hotel had struggled. Mona had been right in her description—the hotel had looked tired and many a potential
