Page 166 of Bride By Coronation

"Don't ever apologize again for telling me you're happy," he mumbles against my lips and steals more of my breath.

My knees buckle.

He steadies me with his forearm against my back, tugging me closer. He kisses me again, then retreats an inch from my mouth, declaring, "I've never been happy before. Since I've married you, I now know what that feels like. So thank you."

I blink hard, trying to stop tearing up, and smile.

He kisses the top of my head and lowers his lips to my ear, suggesting, "We probably should let the driver get back in his vehicle."

"Oh," I say, then nervously laugh, realizing he's standing beside us. "Sorry."

"No worries, Your Majesty," he says, his lips twitching.

Kirill steers us toward the entrance.

I lean into his tall frame and ask, "What is that made of?" I point to the building, which is some type of stone with lines running across it.

He replies, "It's called rammed earth, a technique from ancient times. The Moroccans would compact soil, sand, silt, and water, creating a wall with the dimensions you see. It's very durable against weather conditions."

"Wow. It's really pretty," I say with admiration.

"I like it too," he admits, and we step inside.

A woman with dark hair and eyes looks up at our entrance. Her face lights up, and she says with a French accent, "Ah. Mr. Petrov. You're back!"

He grins and stands taller. "Good to see you, Charlotte. This is my wife, Fiona."

She focuses on me, beaming, and exclaims, "Wife! When did you get married?"

"A few weeks ago," he answers.

She steps forward and wraps her arms around me. I embrace her, and she kisses my cheek. "Congratulations. It's so nice to meet you. Your husband's been coming here alone for years. It's about time someone scooped him up!"

Kirill chuckles and tugs me back into him.

I decide I like her, and reply, "It's nice to meet you."

"Let me take you to your table. Will you need menus?" she asks.

Kirill answers, "That depends on whether Fiona is okay with letting Chef Rakan send out what he thinks is best." He looks at me in question.

"Yes. That sounds fun," I respond.

"Good. You won't regret it. Follow me," Charlotte says, opening a door.

"Wow!" I mutter, taking in the red and gold velvet ceiling, matching pillows, and padded private booths. Long red curtains hang in front of each table, pulled back with gold ropes or shut for privacy. Elaborate diamond light fixtures hang from the ceiling, and soft light shines against gold-foiled symbols. There's one vertical line and a curve pointing up and one pointing down. I motion to one and ask, "What does that depict?"

"That is the Berber. It's on Morocco's flag," Charlotte explains.

I glance around again, uttering, "This restaurant is gorgeous."

"Thank you. Enjoy your dinner, Mr. and Mrs. Petrov," she states.

I step into the most private of the rooms we've passed. It's slightly bigger than the others, and the curtains have multiple layers of velvet.

"After you," Kirill states.

I slide into the half-circle booth, and he follows.

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