by Kate Hewitt
At the end of the meal Rachel left first, arm in arm with Diakis. Mateo watched them go, but by the time he’d made it back to the ballroom she was lost in the crowd and annoyance bit at him. She was his wife. He’d already told her they would spend much of the evening apart, mingling and chatting, but now he wanted her by his side.
He needed her there, which would have alarmed him except right now he didn’t care. He just wanted to find her.
Another hour of mingling passed, endless and interminable. Occasionally Mateo glimpsed Rachel across the room, but it would have been impolite, if not downright impossible, to storm through the crowds and approach her. Besides, as the minutes ran into hours, Mateo managed to convince himself that nothing was amiss...and he certainly didn’t need anything or anyone. He breathed a sigh of relief at the thought.
Finally the evening came to an end. It was two in the morning, the sky full of stars, as the guests departed in a laughing stream, while Mateo, Rachel, and his mother all stood by the door, saying their official farewells. Rachel looked ready to wilt.
‘Such a success!’ Agathe kissed Rachel on both cheeks. ‘You were marvellous, my dear. Absolutely marvellous.’ She turned to Mateo. ‘Wasn’t it a success, Mateo? An absolute triumph!’
‘It was.’ He glanced searchingly at Rachel, but her gaze flitted away. What was going on?
‘I must say goodnight,’ Agathe said on a sigh. ‘I am absolutely exhausted, as you both must be.’ She kissed Mateo’s cheek. ‘You’ve done so well.’
‘Thank you, Mitera.’
His mother headed upstairs, and the staff melted away to clean up after the ball. They were alone in the great entrance hall, the space stretching into shadows under the dimmed lights of the chandelier high above. From outside someone laughed, and a car door slammed before an engine purred away.
‘You really were wonderful,’ Mateo told her.
‘Your feet must be killing you.’ Rachel reached up and took out the teardrop earrings. ‘These are lovely, but they’re agony to wear. I haven’t worn earrings since my uni days.’
‘You look amazing.’
‘Thank you.’ She still wasn’t looking at him, and Mateo bit back his annoyance. What game was she playing?
‘I think I’ll go to bed.’ Rachel let out a little laugh that sounded brittle as she started towards the staircase. ‘I think I could fall asleep right here.’
‘It’s been a long evening.’
‘Yes.’ She glanced back at him, like a beautiful flame in her bronze gown with the topazes and diamonds glinting in her hair and at her throat and wrists. ‘Goodnight, Mateo.’ She almost sounded sad, and that irritated him further.
They’d had a brilliant evening, they were getting married the day after tomorrow, and she was playing some passive-aggressive game of showing him she was sad without actually saying it.
‘Why don’t you just tell me what’s going on, Rachel?’ His voice came out hard, harder than he’d meant it to, but he’d never liked these games. Not with Cressida, when he’d so often had to guess the reason for her pique, and not with Rachel. Not with anyone.
Her eyes widened as she stilled, one hand on the banister. ‘What...what do you mean?’
‘You know what I mean.’
She stiffened, her eyes flashing with affront at his tone. ‘I really don’t.’
‘Are you sure about that?’ Mateo knew he was handling this all wrong, but hours of wondering and worrying that something was amiss had strung him tighter than he’d realised. He was ready to snap now, and it was hard to pull back.
‘Yes, I’m quite sure. I’m tired, Mateo, and I want to go to bed.’
So he should let her go. He knew that, and yet somehow he couldn’t. ‘Why did you keep giving me looks all evening?’
‘Looks?’
‘During dinner. As if...’ He struggled to put a name to the expression in her eyes. ‘As if you were disappointed in me.’ The realisation that that was indeed what her look had been was a heaviness in his gut.
Recognition flashed in Rachel’s eyes, and Mateo knew he was right. Something was wrong...and she didn’t want to tell him what it was. She wanted him to guess, and beg, and plead. He’d been here before, and he hated it. He wouldn’t play that game.
‘You know what? Never mind.’ He shook his head, the movement abrupt, dismissive. ‘I don’t care what it is. If you can’t be bothered to tell me, I can’t be bothered to find out.’
‘Why are you so angry?’ She sounded bewildered, and rightly so. He was overreacting, he knew it, and yet he still couldn’t keep himself from it. Because this was bringing back too many old, painful memories, memories he’d suppressed for fifteen years. He really didn’t want them rising up now.
‘I’m not angry.’ His tone made his words a lie.
She gave a little shrug, as if the point wasn’t worth arguing, which it probably wasn’t. His hands balled into fists at his sides.
‘Rachel...’
‘Fine, Mateo, if you want to do this now.’ She let out a weary sigh that shuddered through her whole body before she gave him a look that was both direct and sorrowful. ‘Who is Cressida?’
CHAPTER ELEVEN
SHE HADN’T WANTED to confront him. She’d told herself there was no point. And yet Mateo had forced an argument, much to her own shock, because he’d never acted in such an emotional and unreasonable way before. And now they were here, and she’d asked the question that had been burning on her tongue since Karolina had patted her hand at dinner and said in a dreamy way, ‘You’re so much better for him than Cressida, my dear.’
When Rachel had smiled politely in return, the conversation had moved on, but then the man who had escorted her from the table had said something similar.
‘Thank God he didn’t marry Cressida.’
And Rachel had started to feel...unmoored. She couldn’t have explained it better than that, that the sudden emergence of this unknown woman that Mateo must have considered marrying had left her feeling entirely and unsettlingly adrift. And so she’d asked, and now she wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer.
Who is Cressida?
Mateo stared at her unsmilingly, his hands still in fists by his sides. ‘Where did you hear that name?’ he asked tonelessly, but with a seething undercurrent of anger that Rachel sensed all the way from the stairs.
‘Does it matter?’
‘Where?’
She stiffened at his tone. She’d never seen Mateo like this, and it frightened her. It made her wonder if she knew him at all.
Who was Cressida?
Did she really want to know?
‘Karolina told me,’ she said. ‘And then Lukas Diakis, the minister.’
‘What did they say?’
She stared at him, willing the fierce mask to crack. Why was he looking so terribly ferocious? She shrugged, deciding to play it straight, as she played everything. She was never one for machinations, manipulations, a sly tone, a leading question, no matter what Mateo had just accused her of.
‘Karolina said she thought I was better for you than Cressida, and Lukas said he was glad you didn’t marry her.’ Mateo’s face darkened, his brows drawing together in a black slash. Rachel took a step backwards on the stairs and nearly stumbled on her gown.
‘They should not have spoken of her.’
His icy tone should have kept her from saying anything, but Rachel sensed that if they didn’t talk about Cressida now, they never would.
‘Who is she, Mateo? Why have you never mentioned her before?’
‘Why should I have?’
‘She’s obviously someone important to you.’ Rachel struggled to keep her tone reasonable even though she had an almost uncontrollable urge to burst into tears.
It was past two in the morning, she’d had the longest and most stressful night of her life, w
onderful as it had been, and she knew she was feeling far too fragile to handle a big discussion right now...just as she knew they needed to have it. ‘You dated her,’ she said, making it not quite a question.
‘Yes.’ Mateo’s mouth thinned to a hard, unforgiving line. ‘It was a long time ago. It’s not important.’
Not important? Was he serious?
‘She seemed like someone important to you, judging from your reaction now.’
‘My reaction,’ Mateo informed her in as chilly a tone as she’d ever heard from him, ‘was because my relatives and civil servants were gossiping about me like a bunch of fishwives.’
‘It wasn’t like that—’
‘It was exactly like that.’ Mateo strode past her, up the stairs. Rachel watched him go with a sense of incredulity. This was so unlike Mateo, it was almost funny. He wasn’t this cold, autocratic, ridiculous dictator of a man. He just wasn’t.
And yet right now he was.
‘Why won’t you tell me about her, Mateo?’ she called up the stairs. ‘We’re about to be married—’
He did not break his stride as he answered. ‘It is not to be discussed.’
Rachel watched him disappear up the stairs, dazed by how quickly things had spiralled out of control. Alone in the soaring entrance hall, she strained her ears to hear the distant sound of Mateo’s bedroom door closing.
She glanced around the empty hall and swallowed hard. She felt numb inside, too numb to cry. Had they just had their first argument?
Or their last?
Slowly she walked up the stairs. She was still in her gown and jewels, but the clock had definitely struck midnight. The party was over.
Francesca was waiting for her in her bedroom, eager to hear about the party as she helped her undress.
‘You wowed them all, I am sure,’ she exclaimed. ‘So beautiful...’
Rachel forced a smile as she bent her head and allowed Francesca to undo the clasp of her necklace. She remained quiet as she took off the rest of her jewels, and the stylist put them away in a black velvet case that would be returned directly to the vault where all the crown jewels were kept.
Then Francesca undid the zip of her gown, and Rachel carefully stepped out of it, and into the waiting robe.
‘I drew you a bath,’ Francesca said as she swathed the dress in a protective bag. ‘I know it’s late, but I thought you might want to relax.’
‘Thank you, Francesca, you’re a saint.’ Since their first meeting, when Mateo had glowered at and almost fired her, Francesca had proved to be a stalwart stylist and a good friend. Rachel was grateful for the other woman’s support.
With the dress draped over one arm, Francesca frowned at her. ‘Is everything all right?’
Rachel managed another wan smile. ‘Just tired. Exhausted, really.’ She considered asking Francesca if she knew who Cressida was, but she could imagine Mateo’s reaction if he discovered she was asking around. Clearly, for him, the woman was off-limits to everyone, even Rachel. Especially Rachel.
‘Have a bath and get some sleep,’ Francesca advised. ‘It’s a big day tomorrow.’
‘Another one?’ Every day had been a big day.
‘We have the final fitting for your dress, a rehearsal for the ceremony, and a dinner in the evening with about thirty guests.’
Rachel’s head drooped at the thought of it. ‘Right. Okay.’
‘You’re sure everything is all right?’ Francesca looked at her, worry clouding her eyes.
For a second Rachel wanted to confide in the other woman. She wanted to confess to all the doubts that were now crowding her heart and mind.
I don’t know if I can cope with this. I’m not sure I’m queen material after all. I’m afraid the man I’m about to marry is still in love with another woman.
‘I’m fine,’ Rachel said as firmly as she could. ‘Thank you.’
Francesca patted her on the shoulder and left the room, and Rachel sagged visibly once the woman had gone, unable to put up a front any longer.
She nearly fell asleep in the bath, the hot water doing its best to loosen the knots tightening her shoulder blades. When she finally got out of the bathroom, dripping wet and aching with both tiredness and sorrow, she fell across the bed, pulling the duvet across her, her hair still in a wet tangle, and didn’t stir until bright autumn sunshine was pouring through the windows whose shutters she’d forgotten to close.
In the morning light, everything seemed a little better. At least, Rachel felt more resolved. Last night she’d been blindsided by Mateo’s sudden change in attitude, the way he’d morphed from the charming, easy-going man she’d known into some parody of a cold, frosty stranger. She knew the pressures of his kingship weighed on him heavily, but he’d never taken that tone with her before, and Rachel had no intention of setting some sort of awful precedent now.
She showered and dressed, blow-dried her hair into artful waves and chose one of her new outfits to boost her confidence—a pair of wide-leg trousers and a cowl-necked topped in soft maroon jersey. Her engagement ring glinted as she moved, reminding her of the promises they’d already made to each other. They’d get through this. They were getting married tomorrow, after all.
Finding Mateo, however, was not as easy as Rachel hoped. After a buffet breakfast in the palace dining room by herself, she was whisked away by Monica, her personal assistant, to the final fitting of her wedding gown.
Rachel loved the pure simplicity of the white silk gown, with its edging of antique lace on the sleeves and hem, and the long veil of matching lace. When she wore it, she truly felt like a princess. A queen.
After the fitting, Monica met with her in the study Rachel was to call her own, going over the schedule of events on tomorrow’s big day. Rachel scanned down the list—wedding ceremony and coronation in the cathedral across the square, and then a walkabout through the plaza to greet well-wishers before returning to the palace for a wedding breakfast. Then a turn around the city in a horse and carriage before returning to the palace for a ball, and finally spending their wedding night there in a private suite. Considering Mateo’s responsibilities, there would be no honeymoon.
‘That looks like a very full day,’ Rachel said with a smile, trying to ignore the butterflies swarming in her middle. Even though she was getting a little bit used to being in the public eye, the thought of all those events made her feel dizzy with anxiety. What if she tripped and fell flat on her face? What if she was sick? Considering how nervous she was, she knew it was perfectly possible. She could utterly humiliate herself in front of thousands of people, not to mention those watching from their homes, since everything was to be broadcast live.
Don’t think about it, she instructed herself. When the times comes, you’ll just do it. You’ll have to.
She turned to Monica with as bright a smile as she could manage. ‘Do you know where the king is?’
The wind streamed by him, making his eyes water, as Mateo bent low over the horse and gave it its head. The world was a blur of sea, sand, and sky as the stallion raced over the dunes.
When he’d woken up that morning after a few hours of restless sleep, he’d known he needed to get out of the palace. Out of his own head. And riding one of the many horses in the royal stables was the perfect way to do it.
Mateo hadn’t been on a horse in years, but as soon as he’d settled himself atop Mesonyktio, the Greek word for midnight, he’d felt as if he were coming home. And feeling the world fall away, even if just for a few minutes, was a blessed and much-needed relief.
He was still angry with himself for the way he’d handled the altercation with Rachel. He was also angry with his meddling relatives and colleagues for mentioning Cressida; he’d only brought her to Kallyria once, fifteen years ago, but they remembered.
He remembered. He’d been so besotted. So sure that she was the only, the ultimate,
woman for him.
Of course she hadn’t been. His gut tightened and he leaned farther over Mesonyktio’s head, letting the wind and speed chase away the last of his tumultuous thoughts.
By the time he arrived back at the stables, he was tired enough not to have to think too much about last night, or how he regretted the way he’d handled that tense and unexpected situation with Rachel.
He slid off Mesonyktio’s back and led him by the reins into the dim coolness of the palace stables, only to stiffen when he heard a familiar voice say quietly, ‘Mateo.’
He blinked in the gloom, breathing in the smell of horse and hay, and then focused his gaze on Rachel, standing in front of him, chin tilted, eyes direct.
‘What are you doing here?’
‘I wanted to talk to you.’
He drew a deep breath, forcing himself to relax. ‘All right. Let me see to the horse first.’
She nodded and stepped out of the way as he brought Mesonyktio to his stall and began to unfasten his saddle.
‘I didn’t even know you rode.’
‘Not much time or space for it, back in Cambridge.’
‘No, I suppose not.’
She remained quiet as he rubbed the horse down, taking his time to delay the moment when he’d have to face her. He should apologise. He knew that. Yet somehow the words wouldn’t come.
Finally there was nothing more to do with Mesonyktio, and Mateo knew he could not delay the inevitable. He turned around and faced his bride-to-be. She looked lovely in a pair of tailored trousers and a soft top in burgundy that made the most of her curves. Her hair was loose about her shoulders, her eyes wide and dark and fastened on him.
‘I want to talk about last night,’ she said without preamble. Rachel was no shrinking violet, never had been. She had always been willing to be confrontational at work, politely so, but still. Mateo should have known she wouldn’t let last night go, no matter how foreboding he might have seemed.