“Thank you for inviting me,” Julene gushed, while helping Aziza out of the dress.
“Me, too,” Naima said. “I have not attended a wedding in a long time. I am honored to be part of yours, especially after the way you helped me.”
“You both did me a favor,” Aziza said. “If you didn’t come, there wouldn’t have been anybody in attendance for me. In the flesh, that is.”
Aziza winked at Sunita. “You did a great job, sweetie.”
“I was happy to help, Auntie.”
In the past week, Aziza had conversed with Sunita to build her skills at English. Her confidence level had also risen, and she was more relaxed in Ryan’s presence.
Under Naima’s instruction, Aziza sat in front of the mirror. With deft touches, Naima repaired her makeup. Then, Julene neatened Aziza’s hair that she’d tamed earlier with a flatiron and holding gel.
After Julene groomed every stray hair back in place, Aziza slipped into a cream dress with a matching jacket. She ran a finger over the silky petal of the rose she had removed from her bouquet, then held it to her nose and inhaled deeply. The fragrance reminded her of the goodness of life and its many simple blessings.
She hugged Naima, who had been a constant companion during the last week. She was currently in the shelter, but had decided to return to Senegal. Aziza wasn’t sure when she’d see her again, if ever, but they had promised to stay in touch.
The three women descended the stairs and entered the ballroom where some guests sat and others stood around talking with champagne glasses in hand.
The Sheikh and Sheikha sat at a table on a raised dais and were soon joined by Amanda, Hassan, Khalil, Chaz, and Blair, as well as other distinguished-looking guests she assumed were part of the royal family.
Ryan appeared at Aziza’s side and escorted her to another table set for them and the wedding party.
The official portion of the reception did not take long. Khalil acted as the Master of Ceremonies and those who spoke, including Shaz, kept their good wishes and tributes tight and humorous.
At the end of a meal that included a fig salad with blackberries, creamy hummus, and spiced lamb with pine nuts, topped off by a pomegranate gravita and pistachio baklava. To honour their foreign guests, the caterers also prepared an American menu.
When most of the food was consumed, Khalil tapped a wine glass with a knife to get everybody’s attention. The room went quiet when he stood.
“I do not want to steal Ryan and Aziza’s thunder,” he said, “but there is no better time to do this.”
Gesturing to Ryan, he continued, “Mr Bostwick, would you stand, please?”
Ryan seemed mystified, but he did what Khalil asked and stood next to him at the glass podium.
“The Kings of the Castle believe in highlighting good when it is done and encourage service at the highest level.”
The only sound in their elegant surroundings was the random clink of cutlery and the piped music playing at a low setting.
“For his part in rescuing the kidnapped women a week ago, and uncovering the source of a criminal enterprise, it is my pleasure to name Dorian “Ryan” Emory Bostwick, the Knight of Paradise Island.”
A delighted grin covered Ryan’s face as he accepted a gold figure of a knight on an oval pedestal. Khalil also handed him a small box, which Ryan guessed contained cufflinks like the ones the other Knights wore. “The Kings are impressed with your initiative and skills.” Khalil chuckled, then continued, “Even if you are hot-headed, like someone else we could mention, but will not.”
“Thank you. All the women involved can thank Aziza.” Ryan’s gaze settled on her. “When Shaz told me she’d been kidnapped, it was as if my heart had been ripped out. There was nothing I could do other than fight to get it back.”
He returned to their table with the backdrop of rousing applause. When he sat, Aziza cupped his cheek. “I’m so proud of you, babe.”
Eyes closed, he kissed her palm.
The reception continued for another hour before they left for their suite.
On her way out of the ballroom, Aziza stopped at the children’s table. Last night she had explained to Sunita that she would be staying at the palace while she and Ryan celebrated their honeymoon.
Sunita’s anxiety was heart-breaking to watch, but now as she kissed her cheek, Sunita seemed more at ease.
“If you need anything at all,” Aziza reminded her, “ask an adult to get me on the phone. I’ll call you in the morning.”
One child, a girl slightly younger than Sunita, linked an arm through hers. “She will be fine, Auntie. We will take care of her. Right, Sunita?”
To Aziza’s surprise, Sunita nodded. “I will be okay.”
The chauffeured ride back to the hotel took ten minutes, and the moment Ryan lifter her over the threshold of the suite, he removed each item of her clothing a piece at a time. When she lay nude before his eyes, Ryan worshiped every part of her body until she squirmed on the mattress, begging him to take her.
Their coupling was hot and frantic with need. They had agreed to wait until they were married before consummating their union, and with Sunita in the suite, abstaining made sense. Each night, they slept with the bedroom door open, in case she woke and needed Aziza.
The next time Ryan brought her to ecstasy, Aziza yelled his name and clung to him as if she couldn’t survive without his touch. As sleep overcame her, Ryan whispered, “Mrs. Bostwick, there’s more gas left in this engine.”
She stretched and shifted to face him. With a mischievous smile teasing her lips, she said, “I know a way we can move the needle to empty.”
Chapter Thirty
Three glorious days and two nights with Ryan mellowed Aziza. After a dinner
