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He could be replaced.
He could literally be replaced in the photos. Catelyn had a knack for Photoshop, and if she kept the posed photos to a minimum, they’d look real enough. She went back to the photo gallery that Rami appeared in. There were several of him in the garden.
“Yes.” Catelyn pumped her fist in the air. “I’ll just see how it looks,” she said out loud. “I don’t have to use these for the blog.”
She set to work on combining the photos.
He was so sexy in his dark suit. And muscled, too, as if he paid particular attention to his fitness. He must need the activity, what with all his jet-setting around the planet for business deals.
It was probably a bad idea, what she was doing, but the hell with it. The fantasy was gorgeous. And the more she clicked and cut and pasted, the more it came to life in front of her eyes.
It was past midnight and Catelyn’s eyes were burning by the time she finished the last photo. It had taken several hours to process all six of the ones she was thinking of using on the blog. She was committed now.
There she stood on the left, head tilted prettily down, eyes lowered toward her bouquet. And there was Rami on the right, beaming down at her. The angle of his gaze made it seem…real. Almost completely real. She squeezed her eyes shut and opened them again.
It could have been real.
The wine—a third glass, now—buzzed through her veins, and her heart pounded with excitement. The photos looked gorgeous. She looked gorgeous. And Rami looked good enough to take to bed. Heat rose to her cheeks at the thought of it.
“Oh, stop,” she said to the computer screen. She’d never see him again. He’d never see these photos. Truly, what was the risk? She’d read in an article not long ago that Al-Dashalid had certain internet restrictions put in place by the government. What were the odds that someone would come across her little blog? All of it would be entirely harmless. At worst, someone from the estate’s management team might recognize the location, but…would they even care? It was free publicity for them, too.
Catelyn yawned in spite of her jittery excitement. It was late. Too late, honestly, to be doing this. But they needed a new blog to be live in the morning, and she needed to post those pictures before she lost her nerve.
It was easy enough.
She loaded the photos onto Elite Occasions’ website and typed up a cheeky bit of text to accompany them. "A royal wedding?" she wrote. "The Ashford Estate is fit for a prince, and they’ve found one in Sheikh Rami!"
There.
She read over the words and deleted the bit about the prince.
Then she added it back in.
He was never going to know about this. To most people in New Jersey, he was a handsome model. They wouldn’t recognize him as part of Al-Dashalid’s royal family. And most people in New Jersey wouldn’t recognize her, either. Not until they booked her to hire their weddings. Catelyn’s job was to make people’s fantasies come to life. They’d understand if she’d created one of her own.
She hit publish on the blog and stood up. The wine was quickly wearing off, which was good—she’d be alert on her walk home from the office. It was only three blocks.
Before she could bring herself to leave, she looked at the live version of the blog post.
God, those pictures…they were stunning. She’d done an excellent job.
And, she decided once and for all, it was all going to work out. At best, those photos would garner them some quick business. At worst, nobody would notice and the business would fail.
She grabbed her purse from a hook by the door and slung it over her elbow. That wouldn’t happen, she thought as she locked up the office and started down the street. The business would survive. It was all going to work out.
Really, it was.
3
Issam couldn’t stop laughing.
Rami’s normally stoic and serious youngest brother, who took his responsibilities regarding the country’s security both at the borders and at the palace seriously, leaned against the mahogany desk, bracing himself with one hand so he could wipe away tears with the other.
“Stop,” said Rami, who could not tear his eyes from the computer screen.
“I’ll stop,” agreed Issam, straightening up and taking a deep breath. “I’ll stop.”
There was a moment of silence and then a choked snort from Issam.
