Bound By The Sultan's Baby. Carol Marinelli

not even noticed its significance, yet Gabi would survive on it for weeks.

      He knew her name.

      ‘Perhaps you could take Mona to see the ballroom while I discuss details with Fleur,’ Marianna suggested.

      Details being money.

      ‘Of course.’

      Gabi stood and smoothed her skirt.

      Oh, she loathed the black suit with a gold logo and the heavy, cowl-necked cream top. It was the perfect outfit for a funeral director, not a wedding planner.

      If it were her own business she would wear a willow-green check with a hint of pink. Gabi had already chosen the fabric.

      And she would not wear the black high heels that Bernadetta insisted on, for she felt too tall and bulky as she walked through the foyer alongside the future bride.

      And then she saw Alim and Ms Blonde stepping into his private elevator, and Gabi scowled at his departing back, for she envied the intimate experience they were about to share. Ms Blonde was coiling herself around him and whispering into his ear.

      Thank God for gated elevators.

      They were excellent for regaining self-control, for they slammed shut on the couple and as the world came back from the peripheries Gabi recalled that there was a wedding to be arranged.

      There were large double doors to the ballroom and Gabi opened them both so that Mona could get the full effect as she stepped in.

      It truly was stunning.

      Huge crystal chandeliers first drew the eye, but it was a feast in all directions.

      ‘Molto bello...’ Mona breathed, and it was a relief to slip back into speaking Italian. ‘The ballroom is nothing like I remember it.’

      ‘Alim, the owner, had it completely refurbished. The floor was sanded back, the chandeliers repaired. The Grande Lucia is once again the place for a wedding.’

      ‘I know it is,’ Mona admitted. ‘It is actually where James and I met. I was here for my grandparents’ anniversary. James was here, visiting...’ Mona stopped herself from voicing whatever it was she had been about to say. ‘I just don’t like it that Fleur is calling all the shots just because her...’ Mona clapped her lips together. Clearly she didn’t want to say too much.

      Gabi, curious by nature, wished that she would.

      Fleur was being very elusive.

      From the draft guest list, the groom’s side seemed incredibly sparse. Just a best man from Scotland would be flying in and that was all. There was no mention of James’s father.

      Gabi wondered if Fleur was widowed.

      But Gabi wasn’t there to wonder and her mind turned, as it always did, into making this the very best of weddings.

      ‘Imagine dancing under those lights at night,’ Mona said.

      ‘There is nothing more beautiful,’ Gabi assured her, and then pointed up to a small gallery that ran the length of the westerly wall and imagined the select audience watching the proceedings in days long gone.

      ‘The photographer can get some amazing overhead shots of the dance floor from up there. A photographer I... I mean Matrimoni di Bernadetta regularly uses does the most marvellous time-lapse shots from the gallery. They are stunning.’

      She could see that Mona was starting to get excited.

      ‘When you say you were here for your grandparents’ anniversary,’ Gabi probed, because the thought of time-lapse photos had got her thinking...

      ‘My grandparents were married here,’ Mona told her. ‘Sometimes they take out the record they danced to on their wedding night.’

      ‘Really?’

      ‘I even recognise the floor from their wedding photos. It’s like stepping back in time.’

      Yes, even the ballroom floor was stunning—a parquet of mahogany, oak and redwood, all highly polished to reveal a subtle floral mosaic.

      ‘Your grandparents still dance to their wedding song...’

      Mona nodded and Gabi could see that she was already sold on the venue.

      There would be a string quartet, but Mona loved Gabi’s suggestion that she and James dance their first dance to the same record that her grandparents had.

      And a wedding, a very beautiful one, was finally starting to be born.

      It was a rather more glowing bride-to-be who returned to the lounge area and now chatted happily with Fleur and Marianna about plans.

      And it was a bemused Gabi who looked up and saw Ms Blonde angrily striding through the foyer; she didn’t know why, but she would bet her life’s savings that Alim had uncoiled her, unwilling, from his arms.

      Then later, much later, when plans were starting to be put more firmly in place, Gabi called Rosa with the official dates.

      ‘I’m already working on the dress,’ Rosa said. ‘She’s cutting it terribly fine to wear one of my gowns, even ready-to-wear.’

      And, after a long, tiring day taking care of others, Gabi did something for herself.

      She was all glowing and happy from that tiny exchange with Alim. Of course his lover’s departure could have nothing to do with her, but Gabi was a dreamer, and already her mind was turning things around.

      ‘Can I come and try on the silver dress?’ she asked.

      It was wonderful to dream of Alim.

       CHAPTER TWO

      IT TRULY WAS a beautiful wedding.

      Not that Gabi had a second to enjoy it.

      Resplendent in his kilt, the best man was being actively pursued by the matron of honour and doing his best to get away. Fleur was tense and asking that they hurry. The little flower girls were teary and cold as they stood in the snow for photos and Gabi felt like a bedraggled shepherdess as she juggled umbrellas for the bridal party and tried to herd the guests.

      She was wearing boots, but that was the only concession to the cold.

      Finally they were all in cars and heading off for the reception as Gabi ensured that the choir had been paid.

      Bernadetta sat in her car, smoking, as Gabi shivered her way down the church steps.

      And then it happened.

      Gabi slipped on the ice and bumped down the last three stairs in the most ungainly fashion imaginable.

      Not that anyone came over to help.

      She sat for a moment, trying to catch her breath and assess the damage.

      From the feel of things her bottom was bruised.

      Pulling herself to a stand, Gabi saw that her skirt was filthy and sodden and, removing her jacket, she saw that it had split along the back seam.

      To make things just a little bit more miserable than they already were, Bernadetta was furious, especially that Gabi had no change of clothes.

      ‘Why haven’t you got a spare suit with you?’ she demanded. ‘You’re supposed to be a planner after all.’

      Because you only give me two suits, Gabi wanted to answer, but she knew it wouldn’t help. ‘It’s at the dry-cleaner’s.’

      And, of course, Bernadetta spitefully pointed out that no one else had one that would fit Gabi.

      ‘Go home and get changed,’ she hissed. ‘Wear something...’ And she took her hands and sort of exasperatedly pushed them together, as if Gabi was supposed to produce something that might contract her size.

      And