‘THE hard part will soon be over.’
Ibrahim meant the formal part of the wedding, but as she smiled back at him, it meant something more too.
The hard part was long over, but if it reared up again, she could face it.
Could face anything with Ibrahim by her side.
‘Soon,’ Ibrahim said, ‘we can go to the desert.’ Now he looked forward to his time there. Now he understood that it was wiser than anyone could begin to understand.
But his mind did not linger there. This night his attention was on Georgie. She didn’t like the spotlight, the limelight, and he shielded her from it as best he could, and thankfully, though it was their wedding, there was another couple that dimmed the glare just a touch.
Zaraq was celebrating two happy couples today, Georgie and Ibrahim and also their king with his queen.
The people had always loved her, had mourned her son on her behalf, and now she was back, glowing and radiant. She sat at the table by his side as the king read his speech.
He was proud of his country and people and he thanked them for sharing this day, and he was thankful to his wife too, especially, he added on a whim, for her patience. Even Ibrahim managed a wry laugh and then his father looked right at him and he was proud as he thanked both his youngest and the wildest, even for rebellion, because challenge was good, the king said, it was how we learned. And he smiled at Georgie and thanked her too—because she had taught him so much.
Then the hard part was over and seemingly now they could enjoy.
Except Georgie couldn’t.
She stood at the stop of the stairs, heard the beat of the music and the crowd urge them on, the procession that danced them, and his hand in hers.
‘I can’t do this.’
‘You are doing it,’ Ibrahim said, because she could walk if she wanted to and that would be enough, but he knew she was capable of much more. ‘You’re doing it now.’
Had the king been so jubilant at Felicity’s wedding, so happy and proud?
She could see her mother, smiling, and the radiant face of Sophia, who was home now, and her sister glowing.
But more than that there was Ibrahim beside her and halfway down the steps, with him beside her, Georgie found her rhythm, found she could dance, even terribly, and still he adored her.
She was as she was, perfect to him.
Which gave her courage she had never imagined she could have.
To dance those last steps and accept the love that surrounded her and not care if she stumbled or fell, because Ibrahim was there to catch her. And she was there too for him.
She danced the zeffa, moved toward him and away from him, danced around him and beside him, felt the beat in her stomach that spread down her thighs to her toes, and now she could give in to it and then there was contact and she rested in his arms.
‘Take me to the desert.’
‘Soon,’ Ibrahim said, because still there was duty, so they danced one more dance then two and then headed to a loaded table, where Georgie took her time to select from the lavish spread.
He watched nosy, bony fingers pick up a pomegranate, he saw the servant move in with a knife, but he took over and tore the fruit in two.
‘Take me to the desert,’ Georgie said, because she hadn’t been there since that night and her womb ached for him.
And Ibrahim was about to remind her, but he checked himself. Yes, there was duty, except he had other priorities today. They had posed for the photos, had waved to the crowds, had feasted and danced—had done every last thing Georgie hated—and his duty was now to her.
‘You can’t just leave,’ her mother chided, as Ibrahim spoke with the king. ‘You can’t leave midway through your own wedding.’
‘Yes, she can.’ Felicity hugged her sister as Ibrahim returned.
‘What did he say?’ Georgie asked, but it was too noisy for him to answer. They were supposed to dance again, and with the end in sight, she did. Out of the palace and to a waiting helicopter, and they flew into a desert that looked like an ocean and for a while there were no words, just his kisses as they flew over it.
‘What did he say?’ Georgie asked, when finally they were alone in the desert and she still worried that they’d caused trouble. ‘What did the king say when you told him we were leaving?’
‘To look after you.’ Ibrahim replied. ‘Which, I told him, goes without saying.’
She stepped into his tent and braced herself for servants, for Bedra, for bathing and petals and all the drama that was a royal wedding, consoling herself that in an hour or so they could escape to bed, but it was Ibrahim lighting the lanterns that led them.
‘Where is everyone?’
‘Gone,’ Ibrahim answered. ‘It’s just you and me and no one waiting, no one watching to make sure we’re safe…’ He looked at his bride, at the broken mould that was Georgie, and he wouldn’t change a single thing just to have this moment. ‘Which you are.’
Safe in the desert, alone with him.