‘Shall I stay here while you greet your guests?’ Samia enquired as the engines quietened to an agitated purr. ‘The ring’s beautiful—honestly, it is,’ she added, seeing his closed expression. ‘I hope you’re not too offended by what I said? I realise now you probably designed it—and with me in mind.’
‘Who else?’ he gritted out.
‘If I decide to marry anyone, it won’t be the ring that seals the deal,’ she assured him. ‘Love and trust would be enough for me.’
‘After everything you’ve been through?’ he queried sceptically.
‘Expensive jewellery wouldn’t change any of that, and it certainly can’t be a deciding factor in whether or not I accept your proposal. I always think a plain gold or platinum band is all that’s needed to reflect a circle of love.’
‘That’s your romantic side speaking for you.’
‘Good,’ she said. ‘It’s nice to know I can still rustle up a few romantic feelings after going ten rounds in the ring, so to speak.’ She chuckled at her own expense. ‘Wasn’t it you who said that not all men are the same? Well, not all women are the same, either, and for me it’s what’s in the heart, not on the finger, that counts.’
It was hard to be offended when Samia’s smile was so genuine it lit up her eyes, making them more like precious gems than the ring in the box he was gripping so tightly it threatened to dent. Putting it back in his pocket, he leaned over to plant his fists on the table. ‘Samia,’ he said quietly, ‘I really do need your answer now. Will you marry me?’ As he asked the question the helicopter engines were switched off, and the abrupt silence made him appear to shout.
‘I will!’ she shouted back, springing to her feet.
He was so shocked by her sudden acquiescence that he barely heard her add, ‘I guess I’ll get used to the idea eventually—if you give me enough time...’
‘There is no time,’ he said briskly. ‘We’ll be docking in Madlena tomorrow morning, and my intention is to arrive with a bride.’
‘I’m sorry?’ Samia demanded. ‘At the risk of sounding like a complete dimwit, who exactly is this bride going to be?’
‘The captain of myfloating office blockwill marry us tonight. I trust that is acceptable?’
Her mouth worked but she said nothing. Luca took the chance to fill the sudden silence with essential information. ‘I will go and greet our guests—hairdresser, make-up artist, fashion designers, and a seamstress to make any necessary alterations to your wedding gown and, of course, my indispensable PA, Domenico, who will direct events. Three of them will act as our witnesses, and then the helicopter will return them to shore, while you and I discuss our future over a candlelit dinner before retiring to our marriage bed.’
Ice gathered in the pit of her stomach. ‘I... I thought I would have longer to get used to the idea before we were actually married.’
‘Think again.’
It seemed that Luca was done with waiting.
Numb with shock, Samia was in a state of complete unreality as she allowed herself to be ushered back to her stateroom by an immaculately groomed gentleman who introduced himself as Domenico. Luca’s PA wouldn’t have looked out of place behind a mahogany and glass counter in Savile Row, but he seemed kind, and funny, and was trying very hard to put her at ease. She’d need something, she reflected as he hustled her away. Everything was happening so quickly she had barely had a chance to breathe.
Left alone to bathe for a scant ten minutes, she exited the bathroom in a robe, ready to be primped and preened by beauticians, who then handed her over to the charge of a hairdresser who, it had to be said, worked wonders with her wilful hair. Though so many pins were required to hold up the heavy mass of gleaming curls, they stuck into her scalp like vindictive darts, reminding her of a lifetime of discomfort ahead. Her thighs tingled as she tensed them. High-heeled shoes and tiaras would be the least of that discomfort. She couldn’t deny Luca the physical side of marriage for ever.
‘There will be photographers,’ Domenico explained as he twitched the yards of filmy fabric that comprised her gown until it obeyed his smallest command. ‘I hope you like the dresses I chose for you to try on. Signor Luca insisted they should be understated, or he warned you might consign them to Davy Jones’s locker.’
‘Toss this in the sea?’ Samia queried on a disbelieving breath as she ran her hands down the front of the exquisite gown she and Domenic had finally decided on. ‘Never.’
In a flattering shade of ivory, the bridal gown was a dream of a dress, composed of the softest, finest chiffon that moulded her figure like a second skin. It didn’t constrict, or stop her leaning over in case she revealed more than she intended.
‘I can’t believe you’ve second-guessed my taste like this.’
‘That credit goes to Prince Luca,’ Domenico informed her as she twizzled around in front of the mirror in an attempt to see the gown from every angle.
‘Clothing the body of a beautiful woman requires a very different approach to that of someone who only seeks to impress. Building on Prince Luca’s recommendations, I saw instantly that you are a free spirit, but strong, which made my vision for you something that floated as you stamped your mark on the world.’
She laughed. ‘You make me sound formidable.’
‘Time will tell,’ Domenico observed with a sniff. ‘The main thing now is that you like it. Prince Luca trusts me, and in this instance with his most important project yet.’
Samia frowned. ‘I’m not sure I like being described as a project.’
Taking hold of her shoulders in a light grip, Domenico held her at arm’s length. ‘Are you sure about this?’ he asked with an appraising stare.
‘Can anyone be sure about anything?’
