Salima’s heels clicked sharply against the marble as she rushed down the long east corridor, her gown swaying around her ankles. Her heart hammered in her chest.
“Roman!” she called, breathless, pushing open another door. It was empty.
She tried another — just a storage room lined with silver trays and stacks of unopened champagne.
“Damn it.” Her voice trembled. She slammed the door shut and kept moving. The soft music drifting from the main hall mocked her panic. Everything looked perfect — the lights, the flowers, the guests already gathering but it was all seconds from falling apart.
She rounded a corner and collided with someone — a young waiter balancing a tray of champagne flutes. The glasses rattled dangerously before he caught them.
“I— I’m so sorry, ma’am!”
Salima gripped hi
