‘Have you heard anything? Has Sharif said anything to you about Tyr?’ Eva demanded, her sharp tone mellowed somewhat by the hairpins she was holding in her mouth. ‘After all, Tyr is a major player in the consortium now.’
‘Nothing,’ Britt admitted, turning to check her back view in the mirror. ‘Sharif shares everything with me, but he won’t share that. He says Tyr will return in his own good time, and that Tyr will explain his absence then, and that we must never think the worst of him, because Tyr is doing some wonderful work—’
‘Righting wrongs everywhere but here,’ Eva remarked.
‘You know he’s already done that—fighting with Sharif to free Kareshi. And I trust Sharif,’ Britt said firmly. ‘If he says Tyr will explain himself when he feels the time is right, then he will. And if Sharif has given his word to Tyr that he won’t say anything, then he won’t—not even to me.’
‘So, I suppose we have to be satisfied with that,’ Eva commented, standing back to admire her handiwork. ‘And I must say those diamonds are fabulous.’
‘I’m glad they distracted you,’ Britt teased.
‘Well, they would, wouldn’t they?’ Eva conceded. ‘And this veil...’
‘Eva, I do believe you’re looking wistful,’ Britt remarked with amusement as her sister reached for Britt’s dress. ‘Are you picturing yourself on your own wedding day?’
Eva sniffed. ‘Don’t be so ridiculous. There isn’t a man alive I could be interested in.’ Eva chose not to notice the look her sisters exchanged. ‘Now, let’s get this dress on you,’ she said. ‘The way Sharif runs you ragged with all those projects he’s got you involved in, it will probably drop straight off you again.’
As Leila sighed even Eva was forced to give a pleased and surprised hum. ‘Well... Who knew you could look so girlie?’ she said with approval, standing back.
‘Only a sister,’ Britt muttered, throwing Eva a teasing fierce look while Leila tut-tutted at their exchange.
‘Eva!’ Leila complained where her two sisters settled down for a verbal sparring match. ‘You can’t get into a fight with Britt on her wedding day.’
‘More’s the pity,’ Eva muttered, advancing with the veil.
‘The dress fits like a dream,’ Leila reassured Britt.
‘Stand still, will you?’ Eva ordered Britt. ‘How am I supposed to fix this tiara to your head?’
‘With a hammer and nails, in your present mood?’ Britt suggested, exchanging a grin with Leila.
But Eva was right in one thing—the past six months had been hectic. She had overseen so many exciting new schemes, as well as flying back to Skavanga to manage the ongoing work there. And as if that wasn’t enough, she had insisted on having a hand in the organisation of her wedding at the citadel. Some people never knew when to relax the reins, Sharif had told her, with the type of smile that could distract her for quite a while. She wouldn’t have it any other way, Britt reflected. Life had never been so rich, and when the baby came...
Tracing the outline of her stomach beneath the fairytale gown, she knew she would keep on working until Sharif tied her to the bed. Actually—
‘Man alert,’ Leila warned before Britt had chance to progress this delicious thought.
‘Don’t worry, I won’t let him in,’ Leila assured her.
‘Stand back, I’ll handle this,’ Eva instructed her younger sister. Marching to the door, her red hair flying, Eva swung it open. ‘Yes?’
There was silence for a moment and Britt turned to see who could possibly silence her combative middle sister.
‘Ladies, please excuse me, but the bridegroom has asked me to deliver this gift to his beautiful bride.’
The voice was rich, dark chocolate, and even Britt could see that the man himself was just as tempting. Eva was still staring at him transfixed as Leila stepped forward to take the ruby red velvet box he was holding out.
‘Thank you very much,’ Britt said politely, taking another look at the man and then at Eva. Which one would blink first? she wondered.
‘It is my pleasure,’ he said, switching his attention back to Britt. ‘Count Roman Quisvada at your service...’
He bowed? He bowed. ‘And this is my sister, Leila,’ she said, remembering her manners. ‘And Eva...’ Who, of course, had to tip her stubborn little chin and glance meaningfully from the count to the door.