of wearing them was infinitely preferable to going bare, with large breasts that felt uncomfortable without support. She put them on in a rush, fearful that at any moment the door, which did not have a lock, would open because her tribe of watchful Vashiri companions did not seem to have much idea that a woman might want privacy from an audience. Pulling the robe back on, she returned to the huge bedroom.
Within the space of a minute the heavy kaftan was being swiftly dropped over her head, the hooks fastened and the satin ribbon ties tightened to fit. The elaborate hand-done embroidery on the sky-blue fabric was truly magnificent.
‘That doesn’t look half bad,’ Belle began in evident surprise.
‘It’s beautiful...especially with your colouring,’ Betsy cut in with an admiring smile.
Ella sat down in a chair while her hair was brushed. ‘I’ll do my own make-up,’ she told Hanya firmly when extravagant compacts of very brightly coloured eye shadows were unfurled threateningly in front of her. ‘Zarif doesn’t like a lot of make-up.’
And then she thought, Why am I thinking like that, as though I want to make myself more attractive for him? Where did that weird thought come from? Had it been born in the moment when with only a little elementary foreplay Zarif had sent her careening into an explosive climax, giving her more pleasure than she had ever dreamt was possible? Her cheeks burned with mortification.
Belle thrust a glass into her hand. ‘Enjoy,’ she urged. ‘Don’t let Hanya bully you.’
‘I’m not timid. I’m just very reluctant to do or say anything that might offend anyone,’ Ella confided wryly as she sipped and munched on another appetiser. ‘And she has to know the right way to do everything here because she was Azel’s cousin.’
‘And unless I’m very much mistaken, she was exceedingly hopeful that Zarif would marry her, not you. I sense a generous helping of the old green monster envy every time she looks at you,’ Belle spelt out in her ear.
Ella’s eyes rounded as she did her make-up. ‘But I won’t ever measure up to Azel,’ she muttered in rueful acceptance.
‘First wife still casting a big shadow in the present, is she?’ Betsy murmured. ‘You shouldn’t let that bother you. I mean, it’s not as if Zarif chose to marry her. He was told he would be marrying her when he was only a kid. It was set in stone, an arranged marriage—no romance there or any room to act on his own feelings in such a rigid set-up. You were the very first woman he went on a date with and he chose you...’
He chose you. It was a different take on Zarif’s history, which Ella had not previously considered, and she was grateful for it. Her shadowed eyes suddenly brightened and she laughed, unable to kill the smile creeping across her formerly tense mouth. ‘Are you serious?’
‘Very. Zarif was married at eighteen and he was a virgin when he got married. Nik and Cristo tried to persuade him to wait longer before tying the knot but Zarif followed his grandfather’s dictates and he always puts his duty to his country first. Let’s face it, all Zarif’s advisors were mad keen to marry him off to a suitable woman asap, particularly once he began connecting with his half-brothers from the West. When he met you three years ago, we were all really happy for him.’
Ella stiffened and wielded her mascara brush with great care. ‘It didn’t work out.’
‘None of us understand why. It was so obvious you were mad about him when we first met,’ Belle told her bluntly. ‘You couldn’t take your eyes off him. It was kind of sweet.’
In chagrined silence, Ella swallowed more of her drink and Belle topped it up with a tall bottle that had come out of nowhere. ‘What’s that?’ she asked.
‘Vodka. I had it in my bag. I’m not swearing off drink at a wedding,’ Belle declared defiantly.
‘I shouldn’t have too much... I haven’t much of a head for alcohol,’ Ella admitted.
Her make-up done, Ella stayed still while an elaborate coin-hung headdress was anchored to her brow. Then it was time to gaze in a full-length mirror at the vision of exotic splendour she had become in her opulent royal regalia.
‘Now we go and view some ceremonial sword dance,’ Belle announced cheerfully, having had a discussion with a very disapproving Hanya while urging Ella towards the door and slotting her glass back in her hand. ‘Drink up. I haven’t yet given up hope that I can transform you into a happy bride.’
Guilt assailed Ella as she realised she had not been putting on a good enough show to make the expected impression. A happy bride? No indeed. But, these women were members of Zarif’s family and she should’ve been trying harder. ‘I’m sorry, I’m—’
‘No worries,’ tiny Betsy whispered, squeezing her arm comfortingly. ‘Weddings are ninety-nine per cent stress even without cultural differences involved.’
‘But thanks to our objections you’re not going to be sentenced to a female-only reception,’ Belle broke in with satisfaction. ‘For the first time ever, a palace wedding will be a mixed gathering. We talked Zarif into it last night and he admitted that many of his subjects have long since abandoned all this dated separating-the-sexes-stuff. If you ask me, you can blame his uncle for all the old-fashioned stuff around here. Nobody wants to tread on his toes.’
‘Hush...’ Ella urged, skimming concerned eyes at the forthright redhead while she rubbed her aching brow with a fleeting brush of her fingers because she was starting to get what she assumed to be a tension headache. ‘Zarif is very attached to his uncle Halim and he’s seriously ill.’
‘If you can’t say something nice, say nothing,’ Betsy advised. ‘Ella’s not used to you yet.’
‘But I do like and respect honesty,’ Ella admitted, following Hanya out onto a large stone balcony. A large group of men wielding swords and clad in white traditional robes were lined up in the courtyard below. Towards the rear she could see Nik and Cristo, Zarif’s brothers, standing in the shade to watch. Zarif was easiest of all to pick out of the crowd. He wore magnificent gold-coloured robes that glimmered in the brilliant sunshine. A belt with an ornate golden dagger thrust through it accentuated his narrow waist. His white kaffiyeh was bound with a double gold cord and, framed by that pale backdrop, his hard bronzed features were shockingly handsome. It was all very solemn and serious. A drum beat sounded and the lines of men shifted their feet at a rhythmic pace, roared something incomprehensible and lunged forward with their swords.
‘Could we have just five minutes alone with our sister?’ Belle asked Hanya pleadingly.
With a look of deep resentment, the young Vashiri woman backed into the corridor and Belle shut the door on her while heaving a sigh of relief. ‘Of course you can’t talk with her listening in!’
Ella drank from her glass. She felt incredibly thirsty, her mouth very dry as she watched Zarif leap across the central fire pit with astonishing athleticism and grace, his lean, muscular body soaring high above the flames. At that moment he simply took her breath away.
‘He’s so fit and he’s probably been doing that stuff since he was about five years old,’ Betsy commented admiringly. ‘Nik said he had a very traditional upbringing with his grandparents and his uncle.’
Belle was scanning Ella’s expressive face as she watched her handsome bridegroom bring down his sword with a metallic clash to meet the other men’s weapons in the inner circle. ‘Why on earth did
