Bride Behind The Desert Veil (The Marchetti Dynasty 3)

stay by my side.’

They started to move forward, and the crowd parted like the Red Sea to let them pass. There was a strange hush, and then all hell seemed to break loose.

‘Sharif! Sharif! Let us meet your new wife!’

‘Princess Aaliyah—over here!’

‘Please, Princess, look over here. Who are you wearing?’

‘Marchetti! Now that all of you are settling down, does this mean you’re taking your eye off the ball? Losing your edge?’

Sharif stopped so abruptly that Liyah stumbled at his side. He turned to the bank of photographers to see where that last question had come from. She could feel the tension in his form.

He addressed the faceless people behind the flashing lights. ‘The Marchetti Group is only getting stronger. I can assure you of that.’

And then he was tugging Liyah to his side and all but carrying her as they made their way up the rest of the steps.

As they reached the main doors, a golden glow emanated from inside a large marble foyer. More stairs led up to another level. Flaming lanterns lit their way and exotic fresh flowers scented the air. Uniformed staff expertly divested Liyah of her overcoat, so that by the time they reached the top she looked like every other woman in her glittering gown and jewels. It was opulent, and decadent, and so glamorous that she was afraid to breathe in case she made it disappear, or ruined it in some way.

Sharif held out his arm. She looked at it stupidly for a moment, before realising he wasn’t holding her hand any more. She stepped forward and put her arm through his. She could feel the steely strength of his muscles against her, under his clothes. His heat. She tried to numb herself against the effect, but it was hard not to give in to the urge to cleave to his side.

And even more so when they walked into a room that was bathed in the golden light of hundreds of chandeliers. Ornate flower arrangements made up the centrepieces of round tables. People milled about chatting, networking. Soft, easy jazz came from a band near the top of the room.

They hadn’t moved but a few feet forward before Sharif was stopped by someone. He introduced her to every person who approached them, and Liyah’s face started to ache from forcing a smile. She gave up trying to remember names. They weren’t really interested in her though—they only wanted Sharif.

He despatched all the sycophants with ruthless efficiency, indulging in no kind of small talk. Charming he was not...and yet that didn’t stop people flocking to him. No, what he was, was something far more compelling...

It was somewhat comforting for Liyah to realise that she didn’t feel as out of place or conspicuous as she usually did. Not with Sharif by her side. He eclipsed everything around him. Nevertheless, she wasn’t unaware of the sly looks she received—mainly from other women—and the whispers as they passed by. But she held her head up and pretended not to notice.

Eventually they reached their table, which was at the top of the room, and Liyah sat down gratefully.

‘Okay?’

She looked at Sharif as he spoke, taking his seat beside her. She realised she must have made a face. ‘High heels aren’t really my thing.’

He frowned at her, and she immediately realised that what she’d said would be at odds with the woman he thought she was. But before she could say anything else the music came to a stop and the people hushed.

Speeches were made as they were served plates of food that looked more like art installations. Liyah sipped at sparkling wine and it only added to the general feeling of unreality.

And then Sharif’s name was mentioned by the MC.

Liyah’s ears pricked up.

‘Year on year, the biggest philanthropic contribution comes from the Marchetti Group...please welcome Sharif Marchetti.’

Thunderous applause rang in Liyah’s ears as she watched him get up, adjust his jacket and climb the steps to the stage. He moved with such fluid animal grace that she couldn’t take her eyes off him.

Sharif’s speech was brief, succinct, and surprisingly passionate. Liyah might have expected to hear cynicism in his voice, but she could tell that he actually cared about what he was saying.

After another round of rapturous applause, Sharif returned to the table. The MC wrapped up the speeches and people started to stand up and move around.

Sharif looked at Liyah, ‘Ready?’

‘For what?’

‘To go.’

Liyah had been prepared to settle in for a long evening of boredom as Sharif batted away more sycophants, but apparently that wasn’t how he rolled.