How could they be?
Alim did not want a bride chosen for him by his father.
He wanted...
What?
The maudlin feeling would not shift. Alim reminded himself that his friend Bastiano would be in town next week and that would likely cheer him up. But Bastiano was just another rich playboy, and the casinos and clubs did not hold their usual allure for Alim.
In truth, he was tired of his exhausting private life. The thrill of the chase no longer existed, for after two years in Rome women sought him out.
He walked through the foyer and, sure enough, the last of the guests were leaving.
Alim went up the stairwell and, unlocking the door, he went onto the gallery.
There were no signs of his sister and Alim assumed she was safely in her suite. The photographer had left some equipment so Alim made a mental note to lock the door as he left.
Alim glanced down at the stunning ballroom.
The staff were clearing the glasses and tables away but most of it would wait for the morning.
It was done.
The wedding had been his gift to the couple and Fleur had engineered things so that it was held at the Grande Lucia. Yet he had not taken any significant part in the proceedings.
Yes, it had been a wonderful wedding but for Alim it had been a wretched day and night.
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