“Oh, for god’s sake. Let it out,” said Rami irrita
bly. He didn’t know if he was irritated. Or rather—he didn’t know if he was only irritated. The blog post Issam had just shown him was utterly baffling.
It was a blog post about his own wedding.
A wedding he had never attended. He’d certainly never arranged it. And yet—there he was, standing in the photographs. He zoomed in on one, expanding it to fill the screen. At full size, the photos on TMZ blurred—they weren’t high resolution—and the edges around his body…well, it could go either way. Someone could easily make the argument that he’d had a secret wedding in the States.
And someone had.
One Catelyn Wolf.
He sat back in his chair. How much had she paid someone to photoshop these images? They’d done a hell of a job. Rami recognized himself from a shoot they’d done in the garden for some profile or other. But the positioning had been masterful. He’d been happy in the original photos, but arranged like this, his expression could be interpreted as barely contained love.
Rami wasn’t about to admit to Issam, who had doubled over again with his glee, that the sight of Catelyn in a white dress had him hard as a rock. It didn’t matter at all that they hadn’t seen each other or spoken since that god-awful event at Lydia’s house. The photos of her in that dress, with the sun sparkling in her blonde hair, set his heart beating in a frenzied rhythm.
He took a deep breath and tried unsuccessfully to shove those memories of her at the party out of his mind. He’d found her breathtakingly attractive then, with that black dress hugging her curves. He’d wanted to drag his fingers across the line of her collarbone. He’d wanted to do more than that, given a quiet room with a lock on the door.
But a fake wedding? That was beyond the pale. Especially since it made him cringe to think of how horribly awkward he’d been the moment Catelyn’s mother joined the conversation. Of course, the woman had been interested in all the ways Catelyn’s upcoming solo trip could go wrong, but Rami had been so taken with Catelyn that he hadn’t been able to muzzle himself. And the way Lydia had approached her…
The two were closer than he’d thought, despite Catelyn’s hurry to leave.
“I’m sorry,” said Issam, finally getting control of himself. “I had to show it to you. I probably shouldn’t have, but look at those photos. I couldn’t help it.” Rami heard another bout of his brother’s laughter bubble up, but he managed to contain it.
“I have a right to know who I’m married to,” Rami quipped. Issam’s laughter was starting to needle him.
“But her?” Issam jabbed a finger at the screen. “A wedding in a place like that? She might as well be American royalty.”
“She’s not. She only looks that way in the photos.” It was true. Catelyn did look regal in that pure white dress, with the shimmering veil flowing from the sleek bun at the back of her head.
“Never in a million years.” Issam’s voice was full of awe. “I’m shocked at how real it looks, when it could never—”
“And why not?” Rami stood, pushing his chair back from the computer.
Issam grinned at him, raising one eyebrow. “Are you being serious?”
“Yes.” The brothers looked at the TMZ page again. There was Rami, looking down at bridal-queen Catelyn as if he were utterly in love. “Why couldn’t it happen?”
“Well,” Issam began. “She’s American, for one—”
“I’d say that makes very little difference in this family. Or are you suggesting that Kyril and Hannah don’t have a legitimate marriage?”
“I would never,” Issam said quickly. “He’s head over heels for her. There’s no doubt in my mind. And little Inan is the perfect combination of them both.” He laughed, kindly this time. “He’s going to give Kyril a run for his money.” Kyril was their eldest brother and shouldered the burden of ruling Al-Dashalid in the wake of their father’s retirement. He’d had a whirlwind romance with a woman named Hannah, who had quickly become a treasured member of the family.
“Maybe too much of a run,” mused Rami.
“What does that mean?”
“You don’t think he’s a little too—” He motioned vaguely in the air. “In over his head with all this fatherhood and marriage business?” Rami had no doubt that Kyril loved Hannah as deeply as he’d ever loved anything, but he wondered if the domestic life was really that enchanting. It was equally possible that Kyril had been so swept up in the romance of it all that he didn’t know what he was getting into. What if he woke up one day and realized it had all been a mistake?
“No,” said Issam slowly. “Anyway, we’re talking about your big wedding celebration, not Kyril’s. You’d never make it with an American woman.”
“Oh, so you’re trying to insult me. Why don’t you go find something else to do? Maybe a trip around all the borders.”
“I’m not.” Issam’s tone softened. “You’re the most serious one of us all, Rami. American women—they’re spitfires. They’re not interested in men who hardly ever smile, who hardly ever have a good time.”
“I resent that.”
“Look at your face right now.”