Bride Behind The Desert Veil (The Marchetti Dynasty 3)

‘Try it on.’

He took it out of the box and held out his hand, not even sure why he was insisting on doing it himself. Her hand was cool in his. Small. He slid the ring onto her finger. She drew her hand back and the ring sparkled, making him feel like a fraud. He cursed himself. Since when had he grown a conscience?

She looked at the ring. ‘You didn’t have to change it.’

Sharif put the empty box down on a nearby table. ‘It’s fine, I should have consulted with you in the first instance. Let’s go.’

Liyah sat in the warm cocoon of the sleek car, with a couple of feet between her and Sharif. A couple of feet that she was grateful for, because she still hadn’t quite recovered from seeing him waiting for her dressed in a classic black tuxedo.

The suit was clearly bespoke, showcasing the powerful lines of his body. It made him look even taller and broader than he usually did. But, while he wore the suit with the utmost elegance and propriety, Liyah wasn’t fooled by the sophisticated veneer for a second.

He’d placed a voluminous fur coat over her shoulders before they’d left the apartment. She’d looked at it suspiciously, and he’d said drily, ‘Don’t worry—it’s fake. We only work with designers who reject the harming of animals for their designs.’

She’d been grateful for the luxurious warmth when the cold Mahattan air had hit her like a slap in the face upon emerging onto the street. But after the initial shock, she’d breathed in the sharp air gratefully. It was her first time out of the apartment since she’d arrived. Till now, her only encounter with the outside world had been from her terrace, many floors above the streets, heightening the sense of unreality, which had only been compounded by the activities of the last two days.

She glanced at the new ring on her finger again. He’d surprised her, noticing that she hadn’t felt comfortable with the other one. Except this one made her uncomfortable too—but for very different reasons.

It was...beautiful. And relatively discreet.

It was a diamond in a circular setting, surrounded by small baguette emeralds that extended outwards on either side. It was unusual, and something she might have actually picked for herself. But she chastised herself for thinking even for a second that he’d put any thought into it. Not when a veritable army of people had attended to every aspect of her ‘look’ for the last forty-eight hours.

She’d been pulled, squeezed, trimmed, measured, massaged and used as a mannequin upon which hundreds of different dresses, trouser suits, jumpsuits, casual clothes, swimwear, coats and shoes had been tried.

She’d even been consulted on what scents she preferred by a perfumier, and a signature scent had been mixed and sent to her within twenty-four hours in a beautiful crystal bottle with her name on it, embossed with gold leaf.

And underwear... Underwear so delicate and fine that it made her blush just to look at it.

The previous night Liyah had dreamt of Sharif’s big hands, flicking aside wispy bits of lace from her body so he could get to her skin. She’d woken trembling and hot. Aching inside.

Liyah slid Sharif a quick furtive look. He was looking out of his window, his jaw hard. Remote. His thick hair was brushed back, curling on the collar of his coat slightly. He looked like a remote stranger. She could scarcely believe he was the same man who had led her into that tent at the oasis and fed her, before laying her down and showing her that she wasn’t a freak. That she had capacity to feel such pleasure that—

‘The press release has generated some interest. You should expect intense attention from the press when we arrive. Just stick close to me.’

Liyah’s thoughts scattered. Sharif was looking at her and his face was cast in shadow, making the lines leaner and harsher. His eyes glittered. She gulped. No doubt he thought she was used to the paparazzi, because he believed she’d been courting their attention over the last two summers in Europe.

‘Okay.’

Flashing lights in her peripheral vision made Liyah turn her head. She could see they were approaching an impressive building, with red-carpeted steps leading up to an ornate entrance. Men in tuxedoes and women in shimmering gowns were making their way into the building.

‘Where is this?’

‘It’s the Metropolitan Museum.’

Liyah sucked in a breath. She’d heard of the famous building. Suddenly she felt very unprepared. ‘What exactly is this event?’

‘It’s an annual gala to raise funds for a range of charities.’

The car was pulling to a stop at the bottom of the steps now. Liyah wanted to slide down to the floor of the car and avoid the masses of paparazzi lined up along each side, and the glamorous crowd. This was far removed from anything she’d ever experienced before. In terms of royalty, the Mansours were definitely country bumpkins.

But Sharif was already out of the car, leaving a blast of icy air in his wake. And then her door was opening and he was holding out a hand.

Liyah had a flashback to when he’d held his hand out to her at the oasis. This couldn’t be more different...

She forced it out of her mind, took a deep breath, and let him help her from the car to join him at the bottom of the steps.

Immediately it seemed as if everyone—the guests arriving and walking up the steps, the paparazzi, the myriad men and women in black suits with headsets, ushering the guests towards the entrance—turned as one to look at Sharif and Liyah.

Liyah was barely aware of Sharif’s hand wrapping tightly around hers. Or his frowning look as he took in her face. Or his words. ‘Just