Chapter 73 Dar Al Noor, House of light.
THIRD PERSON’S POV
For their first night out in Marrakech, Serena chose something effortless but striking a flowing ivory silk slip dress that skimmed her figure. The fabric was soft and fluid, the neckline low but elegant, the slit along her thigh revealing just enough leg as she walked. She paired it with delicate gold jewelry, strappy heels, and loose waves falling over her shoulders, giving her that quiet, captivating kind of beauty that didn’t need to try too hard.
Trisha, on the other hand, leaned fully into the night’s energy. She wore a sleek black satin mini dress with a sculpted bodice and thin straps, the hemline bold and playful. Her look was finished with glossy heels and statement earrings.
Together, they looked like two different versions of a perfect portrait stepping into the night.
“Madam Trisha, Madam Serena,” Karim said, clasping his hands together as he gave a small respectful nod. “You both look marvelous…the Marrakech charm and started already.”
Trisha tilted her head slightly, a playful smile touching her lips. “Karim, you don’t look so bad yourself,” she replied smoothly.
Karim chuckled at that, his gaze immediately dropping to the ground, a hint of shyness creeping into his expression.
Serena caught the reaction and, sensing his discomfort, cleared her throat softly before glancing toward the waiting car.
“Shall we?” she said.
“Oh,” Karim finally said as he slowly looked up, “we have to wait for Mr. Damian.”
“Damian’s at the office, Karim,” Serena replied.
Karim started to respond, but a deep voice cut him off.
“No, I’m not.”
They all turned toward the hotel entrance just as Damian and Oscar stepped out. Both men were dressed in traditional Moroccan attire flowing djellabas, the lightweight fabric moving softly as they walked. Damian’s was a deep charcoal with subtle embroidery along the collar, while Oscar’s was a rich sand color that suited the golden glow of the lanterns around them.
“You guys look amazing,” Serena laughed. “And I thought you were still in the office.”
“Thank you,” Damian answered, walking up to her side. “And to answer your question, we couldn’t let you enjoy a night out in this beautiful city all alone.”
Trisha laughed, “If you guys had told us you were going traditional we would have dressed to match.”
“You both look stunning, there’s no need to change,” Oscar said, crossing a hand over Trish’s neck.
Damian made a face on sighting the hand placement but decided to ignore it.
Turning to Karim, Oscar said “Lead the way my brown friend.”
Trisha nudged him, “Don’t be rude.” She murmured.
As they strolled into the city in pairs, Damian and Serena followed slowly behind, their hands mere inches apart. Now and then, their fingers brushed against one another. “You really do look breathtaking tonight,” he muttered.
“Thank you, you don’t look bad yourself.”
When they had walked a few blocks down, after one final turn, they stood facing a heavy, carved wooden door. Mosaic tiles and the faint scent of spices drifted from inside and out into the night air.
Karim turned around and cleared his throat, “First on tonight’s activity list, we will be having dinner at Dar Al Noor. It’s one of the most famous traditional dining places in Marrakech. They are known for their special spices and secret recipes that go back generations.”
From the outside, Dar Al Noor, seemed almost hidden but when you got closer, the palm fronds opened up to reveal the busy warmly lit building. Around it, warm golden lights spilled from hanging brass lanterns, hinting at the soft music, carpets, and candlelit courtyards waiting inside.
“Please take off your shoes, put them in here, and come with me,” Karim said, already taking his own shoes off and placing them neatly in a small wooden locker propped against the side of the building.
“We can’t go in with our shoes?” Oscar asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Yes, Mr. Oscar,” the waitress replied, opening the restaurant door from inside. Her voice was calm but firm. “Here, eating is sacred, and you cannot enter wearing the footwear you’ve used to walk the streets.”
“Okay then, princess. Whatever you say.” Oscar replied with a flirtatious smile causing the waitress’s cheeks to redden as she blushed.
Trisha scoffed at the exchange and brushed past them and into the restaurant, stomping her bare feet as she followed Marin closely behind.
Damian whispered, “What’s going on with those two?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Serena responded, her heart skipping a bit. Damian could not find out about Trisha and Oscar’s connection.
Inside, they were handed soft fuzzy slippers to slip on. The floor was properly tiled, so their feet made little to no sound as they padded across the restaurant toward their table.
They gathered around a low wooden table, surrounded by white floor cushions and poufs.
Damian lowered himself into one of the cushions, folding one leg in front of the other as he balanced himself, the others followed his lead.
“It’s actually more comfortable than it looks, Serena chimed.”
“Yes, and it helps for better and faster digestion,” Karim added.
“Really, don’t let the girls in my gym hear about this.” Trisha laughed.
Karim chuckled, he always blushed at Trisha’s childlike reaction to all the things he showed them. It’s things like that that made him become a travel concierge, showing his beautiful country to foreigners.
“Since this is your first night yet, I’ve instructed the chef to start you off on the basics, to ease your palate into the Moroccan delicacies.” He said, motioning to the servers.
A pair of servers appeared carrying trays of steaming dishes. One knelt briefly at each place, bowing slightly before setting the food down.
“This is harira, a light tomato and lentil soup,” the first server explained, pouring a little into shallow bowls. “It’s gentle on the palate and a traditional starter.”
The second held a tray of small, golden briouats, triangular pastries filled with spiced chicken and almonds. “These are for tasting,” he said softly, “crispy on the outside, tender inside.”
Karim smiled at Serena and Trisha. “See? We start simple. Tonight is just to familiarize yourselves with the flavors.”
Serena lifted her spoon of soup, inhaling the fragrant aroma. Trisha popped a briouat into her mouth, her eyes widening. “Wow… this is actually amazing,” she whispered.
Damian’s hand hovered briefly over the dishes before he picked up a spoon and fetched some of the soup. “Patience,” he murmured with a small smile. “You have to savor each bite.”
“Exactly Mr Damian,” Karim said, picking up a second briouat, “eating is almost like making love, you have to take your time and let the flavors make love on your tongue.”
“Hmm you are right,” Serena said rolling her eyes back, taking out another piece of sauced meat from the pot of tagine
The table fell into a quiet rhythm, the soft clinking of spoons on bowls mixing with the flute playing in the background. The first tastes of the city settling gently over them.
“Guess what,” Jonathan said leaning against the bathroom wall, the door was left slightly ajar so Clara could hear him from inside.
“What?” Clara asked.
“I got us plane tickets.” He replied, “First class.”
Immediately, the sound of the water faucet hushed and Clara came speeding out the door, “plane ticket to where?”
“To Marrakech,” Jonathan replied, picking her up with one hand and spinning round the room.
“Why?”
“What do you mean babe? For our honeymoon of course.”
Clara shrugged him off, “We talked about this and I gave you my conditions for traveling.”
“Yes, and I met those conditions.”
“You went to work one time!” She screamed, “The rest of the time you were running around with my father.”
“Can you just give it a rest?” Jonathan said, already getting in a pissy mood.
“No, you didn’t say you were only marrying me to be my father's dog.” She countered.
“Enough,” Jonathan screamed, “I’ve booked the tickets and called the hotel so we are going to Marrakech. Pack a bag and get with the program.”
He tried to move past her and go into the bathroom but she held him back, “Trisha just posted a photo from Marrakech, is that why you want to go there so bad?”
“Are you asking me if I want to go see Serena’s little friend in Morocco?”
“Don’t be coy with me Jonathan, you know damn well I’m talking about Serena. You only want to go there because she’s there.”
He scoffed, “Stop accusing me of things I’ve not done.”
“Why are you so obsessed with Serena all of a sudden?” Clara asked.
“Clara,” Jonathan said slowly, inching closer to her face, “I told you to go pack your things for our trip.” He paused, “Do not make me repeat myself.”
“I said, I’m not going,” She pouted.
Jonathan scoffed, then he shook her hands off him backing away from the bathroom door. “We’ll see what your father has to say about that.”
“You are going to report me to my dad?” Clara asked, bewildered.
“Trust me, I wish I could punish you myself.” He said finally before walking away, slamming the bedroom door behind him.
As he walked down the corridor, he tried to calm himself before reaching Horace’s study. Why was he so angry? he thought. Clara had asked why he had become so obsessed with Serena, but he had no answer. All he knew was that when he heard Serena was to marry Damian, all the love he hadn’t felt for her because of the circumstances of their relationship came rushing in at once. He would be the man who stole Damian Crowne’s wife.