Page 46 of Royally Promoted

Work had been side-lined by both of them. Of course, they’d done what was necessary but, without any conscious agreement, life had taken on the tenor of a holiday.

Malik had showed her Sarastan. She’d been awed by the dunes but she’d discovered that there was much more to his beautiful country than the rolling, ever-changing hills of sand beyond the walls of his magnificent palace. The city was modern and vibrant. The hotels were amazing, and they’d gone for dinner and drinks at several of them, once staying overnight because the hot temptation of bed had proved too much at a little past eleven in the evening.

Lucy had told him that she’d never seen so much marble, hanging crystal and over-sized indoor plants before in her life when they’d dined at one of the five-star hotels in the heart of the bustling city.

He’s taken her to the old town, where markets and bartering were very different from the high-end malls stuffed with designer goods. And they’d gone to the coast, which was empty, quiet and quite spectacular. The sea was warm, and Lucy had swum until she was exhausted; then they’d lain down, staring up at the turquoise sky, lost in their own private thoughts.

She’d been thinking that job hunting in London was going to be a painful ordeal after this. She’d glimpsed paradise, had tasted paradise, and nothing would ever compete.

She hadn’t breathed a word about Malik to any of her sisters, but she had told Helen, even though she’d been loath to unburden herself when her friend had been all angst about giving birth in a fortnight. In due course, she would confess everything to her family, but only after she was on the road to recovery.

The sight of the dress on the bed brought her back to reality with a thump because she had under an hour to get ready. She would be chauffeured to his parents’ palace.

Malik was already there, having gone ahead to start the process of mingling. She had forced herself not to pepper him with questions about what that entailed because she wasn’t interested in hearing the answer. However, her imagination had not held back in painting very colourful scenarios that involved him being introduced to a mile-long queue of eligible beauties, all breathlessly excited at being chosen to be a princess by the knight in shining armour.

On the spur of the moment, she picked up the dainty sandals she had bought and flung one against the wall, which it hit with absolutely no force before dropping to the ground, and thankfully not falling apart, because there were no alternative options in her wardrobe.

She showered in record time, applied her make-up and did her hair—the little that could be done with it—before stepping into the gown she had bought on one of their trips to the city centre. It was a long, layered affair in shades of blues and greens. The neckline was modest, the dainty straps were very demure and it just fell, only clinging slightly under the bust.

Yet, as Lucy stood back to inspect herself in the full-length mirror, she felt as though it was all just a little bit too much. Her boobs looked enormous, for starters. She’d been seduced by the Grecian style of the long dress but now had to conclude that Grecian women clearly didn’t have big bosoms.

Her hair... Well, it was too late to do anything with it, although on impulse she fished out a couple of pearly clips and strung some of it back so that only escaping tendrils fell across her face.

The driver was there and waiting by the time she made it down and half an hour later, as the black Bentley made its way up the familiar courtyard that formed an enormous circle outside the palace, her heart was beating like a sledgehammer. There were lots of cars and none of them were old bangers. There were also lots of people, in an array of clothing, from traditional white robes to designer suits—dashing men and women dressed to kill, draped in jewellery and sheathed in the finest silks.

The palace was lit up like a Christmas tree and there were uniformed staff everywhere. All that seemed to be missing was a red carpet.

Malik had given her the option of just not coming.

‘It’s not a necessity,’ he had told her gruffly, a few days ago as they’d lain in bed, wrapped round one another, bodies so entwined that they couldn’t have slipped a piece of paper between them.

‘Wouldn’t your parents be a little surprised?’

‘I’m sure they could survive the disappointment.’

‘You think I’m going to be upset, don’t you? Because there’ll be all those hopeful beauties there, waiting for you to chat them up.’

‘Won’t you?’

‘Not a bit of it,’ Lucy had returned stoutly. ‘I’ll have my own queue of hopefuls desperate to be my Prince Charming when I get back to London.’

He hadn’t said anything.

Truth was, she knew that he felt she’d find it hard to deal with the situation, whatever she said to the contrary. The mere fact that she’d come to that conclusion made Lucy all the more determined to show up, even if it damn well killed her.

There was also the bracing thought that seeing Malik in action, seeing him embrace this final chapter in their relationship, the chapter in which he moved on, was necessary. It would be a healthy dose of reality. She would see him chatting to the woman he would eventually marry, and any rose-tinted spectacles she might be wearing would very quickly be ripped off her.

‘Right,’ she muttered under her breath as the Bentley slowly circled the courtyard, coming to a gradual stop outside the imposing front door, which had been flung open. ‘Show time.’

On either side was uniformed staff, several of them. Lucy edged her way out, took a deep breath and decided that the very first thing she would do was help herself to a little bit of Dutch courage...

Inside the ballroom Malik tugged at the black bow-tie and helped himself to his second glass of champagne. He had expected nothing less than perfection, and perfection was what had awaited him when he’d arrived at his parents’ sumptuous palace a couple of hours earlier.

Yes, last-minute things were still being done, but the wing in which the party was being held had been kitted out in regal style. Purple and white flowers wound like ivy around the multiple white pillars in the room; stunted palm trees in golden pots had been lugged in for special effect and some poor souls had spent hours buffing the many chandeliers. Waiters circulated with a giddy array of canapés and there was no end to the champagne.

At a little past seven, the guests arrived thick and fast. Many of them were esteemed families, all known to Malik, as were their kids, whose ages more or less aligned with his, from early twenties to mid-thirties. He had played rugby with a few of the guys and catching up was good.

There would be no formal introductions, his mother had assured him. In a rare moment of physical affection, she had adjusted his bow-tie, stepped back and told him that he should just enjoy the evening. Malik had wryly thought that it was hardly what he would have described as a relaxing social event, but he had smiled, nodded and told her that he would do just that.

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