Royal Weddings. Annie West

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       CHAPTER FOUR

      ‘AT LAST! AFTER five days of celebrating we finally get to the wedding. These royal events are a real test of stamina.’

      Samira looked at her sister-in-law, Jacqui, lounging on a couch, taking a glossy cherry from a silver bowl.

      ‘How can you eat?’ Samira’s stomach was performing a nervous twist and dip that would have done an Olympic diver proud.

      She had to call on all her years of training to sit still, rather than shift edgily and risk smearing the intricate henna patterns being painted on her hands and feet. Two ladies-in-waiting sat before her, creating the traditional designs.

       Bridal designs.

      For the first time, today, the wedding became real.

      The official functions so far had been comfortingly familiar, like untold numbers of royal celebrations she’d attended in the past. Why that should be comforting, Samira didn’t know. This marriage was her idea. It would be wonderful for all of them: her, Tariq and the boys.

      Yet suddenly today she felt ridiculously wobbly.

      Bridal nerves were normal, she assured herself. Even if she wasn’t a bride in the usual sense.

      Most brides looked forward to a night in their new husband’s arms.

      Her insides cramped and the skin at her nape prickled. Samira’s brain seized at the thought of complicating this carefully planned arrangement with sex. Already she felt she walked a knife edge. Her unbidden physical awareness of Tariq was a constant undercurrent. As if there was a disconnect between her mind, that knew intimacy would be a mistake, and her body, that trembled at his touch.

      ‘You think I should stop eating because of the upcoming banquet?’ Jacqui shook her tawny head ruefully. ‘I never used to have much of an appetite.’ Her other hand slipped to the baby bump barely visible beneath her aquamarine top. ‘But I’ve never been so hungry.’

      ‘Except last time you were pregnant.’

      ‘You’re right. I was ravenous then too.’ Jacqui laughed and Samira smiled. Jacqui distracted her from the anxiety that had somehow grown to a peak of apprehension.

      ‘Pregnancy suits you. You really are glowing.’ Samira smiled, feeling only the tiniest flicker of envy. She’d come to terms with her barrenness and couldn’t begrudge another woman such happiness. Instead she basked in familiar warmth at the thought of her brother’s family. Jacqui was the sister she’d never had, loving and supportive. She almost made Samira wish she could have what Jacqui had: a marriage based on love.

      But that wasn’t for her. She knew too well she wasn’t cut out for that.

      There was a bustle as her attendants rose and all four women admired the results. Samira’s hands, wrists, feet and ankles were works of art, covered in ancient designs that proclaimed her royal lineage as well as talismans of good fortune, happiness and fertility.

      She swallowed, ignoring a pang of regret. There was no sense pining over what could never be. She was the luckiest of women, about to acquire a wonderful husband she could respect and trust and two delightful sons. She could ask for nothing more.

      Samira thanked the women warmly. When they’d left, Jacqui put aside the bowl of cherries and sat up.

      ‘Now, do you want to tell me what’s wrong?’

      ‘Wrong?’ Samira stared. ‘Nothing. Tariq has done everything to make the celebrations a huge success. And the ceremony this afternoon—’

      ‘The celebrations. The ceremony.’ Jacqui waved her hand dismissively. ‘They’re spectacular and the whole country is enjoying them.’ She leaned closer, her gaze appraising. ‘But I look at you and I don’t see a bride.’

      ‘You don’t?’ Samira stared at the wedding patterns staining her skin, then across to the table littered with ornate jewellery. Gold, rubies and huge antique pearls caught the light. On the other side of the room hung her bridal gown, the sumptuous cloth of gold shimmering.

      Jacqui followed her gaze. ‘The trappings are there, but something is missing.’ There was concern in her eyes. ‘You don’t look like a woman in love.’

      Samira flinched, then made herself smile. She was making the best of her life, choosing hope over regret instead of locking herself away to fret over what she’d lost. She would build something positive and make a useful contribution, helping to raise a family.

      She was being strong.

      And, if the best she could hope to achieve didn’t include romantic love, that suited her. She was far better without that.

      ‘Not all brides are in love, Jacqui. Arranged marriages are common, especially between royals.’

      ‘I know, I know. Asim said the same.’

      Samira tensed. Jacqui had discussed this with Asim? She hated that she’d been the subject of such discussion, even though she knew it was because they cared for her. They’d been there when she’d needed them in her darkest hours. But she was fine now.

      ‘It’s just that I want you to have what I have, Samira.’ Jacqui looked so earnest. ‘I want you to be happy, to be loved and in love.’

      ‘Thank you.’ She reached out and touched Jacqui’s arm. ‘But I am happy. This is exactly what I want.’

      Still her sister-in-law frowned.

      ‘Not everyone wants to fall in love. Asim must have told you about our parents.’

      Solemnly Jacqui nodded. ‘They were unhappy.’

      Samira’s huff of laughter was bitter. ‘They were miserable and they made life hell for us too. They were either so in love no one else mattered, or they were fighting like wild cats, doing anything to score a point over the other, even using us in their battles.’ She looked down to find herself pleating the fine fabric of her skirt. Her chest tightened.

      ‘Your parents were volatile and self-indulgent.’ Jacqui’s voice penetrated the memories. ‘Love needn’t be like that.’

      ‘I know and I can’t tell you how happy I am for you and Asim.’ Samira paused. ‘But I don’t want love. I tried that and it was the biggest mistake of my life. I’m too much like my mother. I was swept СКАЧАТЬ