by Kate Hewitt
‘I’m sorry if I seemed a bit abrupt,’ he said. ‘It’s a sensitive subject.’
Her eyebrows rose. ‘You seemed a bit abrupt? Nice try, Mateo, but I’m not having that.’
Despite the tension coiling inside him, he almost smiled. ‘You’re not?’
‘No. We’re about to be married.’ She glanced at her watch, an elegant strip of diamond-encrusted gold that was part of her trousseau. ‘In less than twenty-four hours. I’m not having you go all glowery on me and refuse to discuss something that is clearly important. The whole point of marrying me, or so you said, was because we were friends, and we liked and trusted one another. So don’t pull the Scary King act on me, okay?’
‘I don’t think “glowery” is actually a word.’
‘Well, it should be. And if it was in the dictionary, you’d be next to the definition.’ She blew out a breath. ‘So, look. Just tell me what the deal with Cressida is.’
Even now, when she’d played her hand straight, the way she always did, he was reluctant to reveal the truth, and what details he gave her he would do so sparingly.
‘I told you all you need to know, Rachel. I dated her back in university. We were both young. The relationship ended.’
‘There must be more to it than that.’
‘I don’t ask you about your relationship with that man who broke your heart,’ he retorted, and she flinched.
‘He didn’t break my heart. I told you that. I said I was never in love with him.’ She paused, seeming to weigh whether she wanted to ask the question he already knew was coming. ‘Were you in love with her? Cressida?’
Mateo stood still, doing his best to keep his face bland, his body relaxed. It took effort. ‘I suppose I was. Yes.’
She nodded slowly, as if absorbing a blow. ‘I wish you had told me before.’
‘Before? When, exactly?’
‘When you asked me to marry you.’ A crumpled note of hurt entered her voice, and she took a breath, clearly striving to hold onto her composure.
‘Would it have made a difference?’
‘I don’t know, but you know as well as I do, Mateo, that when a scientist does not have all the relevant information regarding an experiment, they cannot draw an accurate conclusion.’
Mateo folded his arms and attempted to stare her down. He should have known he wouldn’t succeed. Rachel had never been one to be cowed. ‘What happened before has no relevance on the present or the future, Rachel. Our future. It was a long time ago. Fifteen years.’
‘Yet you can’t say her name,’ she said softly. ‘You haven’t said it once since we’ve started talking about her.’
Everything in him tightened. ‘I admit, it was a painful time. I do not wish to revisit it.’
‘So fifteen years on, you still have trouble speaking about it? About her?’ She shook her head sorrowfully. ‘That does make a difference, Mateo.’
‘Why?’ he demanded. ‘It ended a long time ago, Rachel. It doesn’t matter any more.’
‘Is she the reason you want a loveless marriage?’ Rachel asked stonily.
‘I didn’t say that—’
‘You as good as did. One based on friendship and trust, rather than love. That’s been clear all along, Mateo. You told me you weren’t interested in falling in love. I just... I didn’t realise it was because you’d been in love before.’
He flinched at that, but did not deny it.
‘So.’ Rachel nodded slowly. ‘That’s how it is.’
‘This really doesn’t need to change things, Rachel. Like I said, it was a long time ago.’
‘What happened?’ Rachel asked. ‘I deserve to know that much. How did it end? Did she leave you?’
Mateo struggled to keep his expression even, his voice neutral. ‘She died.’
‘Oh.’ The sound that escaped her was soft and sad. ‘I’m so sorry.’ He nodded jerkily, not willing to say more. To reveal more. ‘So if she hadn’t died...’ Rachel said quietly, almost to herself, and Mateo did not finish that thought. She nodded again, then looked up at him. ‘You should have told me,’ she stated quietly. ‘No matter how long ago it happened. I should have known.’
‘I didn’t realise it mattered.’
‘Then you are not nearly as emotionally astute as I thought you were,’ she retorted with dignity. ‘You talked about how you trusted me, Mateo, but what about whether I can trust you?’
‘This is not about trust—’
‘Isn’t it?’ The two words were quiet and sad, and she didn’t wait for his answer as she walked out of the stables.
CHAPTER TWELVE
TODAY WAS HER wedding day. Rachel gazed into the mirror at her princess-like reflection and tried to banish the foreboding that fell over her like a dark cloud.
Ever since her confrontation with Mateo in the stables yesterday, she’d felt as if she were walking under it, blundering forward in a storm of uncertainty, trying to make peace with this new knowledge of her husband-to-be, and what it might mean for their marriage.
So he’d had his heart broken. He’d been deeply in love with a woman, and she’d died. It wasn’t a deal-breaker, surely, but Rachel would have appreciated knowing and adjusting to the fact before she was about to walk down the aisle.
No matter what Mateo might insist, it made a difference knowing he’d loved and lost rather than believing he’d never been interested in loving at all.
All through yesterday, as she’d gone through the motions of their wedding rehearsal, and chatted over dinner with dignitaries whose names she couldn’t remember, a battle had been raging in her head.
Should I? Shouldn’t I?
But at the end of the day, when she’d gone up to her suite of rooms and seen her wedding gown swathed in plastic and ready for her to wear in the morning, she’d known there wasn’t a battle at all.
Her wedding was the next day. Her marriage was already set in motion. She had a coin with her name minted on it, as Mateo had informed her that evening. She couldn’t walk away from this, just because the situation was a little bit messier than she’d anticipated. There was far, far more riding on this marriage than her own happiness.
And yet...it caused a pain like grief deep inside her to know that Mateo had loved another woman, loved her enough to not want to love someone else ever again. It was, she told herself, a grief she could get used to, and would ultimately have to live with, but a grief, nonetheless.
Since their confrontation in the stables, Rachel had felt a coolness between her and Mateo that definitely hadn’t been there before, and it saddened her. It was no way to start a marriage, to say vows, with this tension between them.
And yet that was how it seemed it was going to be.
She’d woken that morning to bright sunshine and pealing bells—apparently they would ring all morning, until the wedding. Rachel tried to tune them out as Francesca helped her dress, giving her understated make-up and sweeping her hair into an elegant up-do.
‘This feels crazy,’ Rachel murmured numbly as she stood in front of the mirror and gazed at the vision she beheld. ‘That can’t be me.’
‘It is,’ Francesca said with a wide smile. ‘You look utterly fabulous.’
‘All thanks to you.’
‘Not all,’ the stylist answered with a wink. ‘But I’ll take a tiny bit of credit.’
Rachel moved to the window that overlooked the front of the palace and the large square that stretched to the cathedral on the other side, already crowded with spectators even though it was still several hours until the ceremony.
Many looked as if they had set up early, with camping chairs and flasks of coffee, and others were waving flags or banners. All for her...her and Mateo.
Since coming to Kallyria, Rachel had been too busy and overwhelmed to look online and find out what the media was saying about her and Mateo, and
in truth she wasn’t sure she wanted to know. Now, however, as she eyed a banner that said simply True Love, she wondered.
‘Francesca,’ she asked slowly. ‘What are they saying about Mateo and me?’
The stylist, who was tidying away the many cosmetics she’d used to create Rachel’s natural look, glanced up with an arched eyebrow. ‘Hmm?’
‘What are they saying about us? Are they asking why we’re marrying?’ Rachel caught sight of a sign that read A Real-life Fairy Tale!
‘Well...’ Francesca paused as she mentally reviewed all she’d heard and read. ‘Nothing bad, if you’re worried about that. Everyone thinks it’s incredibly romantic that you’ve worked together for so long and that now he’s king Mateo wants you by his side. I mean, it is romantic, right?’
Rachel forced her lips upwards in what she suspected was a parody of a smile. ‘Right.’
‘I mean, Mateo could have chosen anyone...but he wanted you. People are saying you’re the luckiest woman in the world.’
‘Right,’ Rachel said again. She turned back to the window, not wanting Francesca to see the expression on her face.
The luckiest woman in the world.
Why did she not feel that way right now? Why did she feel as if she were living a lie?
A short while later, it was time to go. Francesca arranged her veil to spread out behind her as Rachel headed down the staircase to the palace’s entrance hall, for a round of official photographs.
Her cheeks ached from smiling, and the heavy satin of the dress felt as if it was weighing her down, as Rachel posed for photograph after photograph. This was what she’d agreed to, she reminded herself. She was lucky, even if she was filled with doubts right now. Mateo was a good man, a man she liked and trusted, even if love was never going to come into their particular equation. She had more, so much more, than most women of the world. She certainly wasn’t going to complain.
But her heart felt as heavy as her dress as she prepared to make her official exit from the palace, and walk alone across the crowd-packed square to the cathedral where her groom—and a thousand guests—awaited.
As the doors were flung open, the bright sunlight streamed in, making Rachel squint. Francesca’s hand was at her back, her voice a murmur in her ear.
‘Chin up, eyes straight ahead. Nod, don’t wave, in case you drop your bouquet.’
Rachel glanced down at the magnificent selection of white roses and lilies she’d been given for the photos. She gulped. ‘Okay.’
‘Walk slowly—right foot forward, feet together, and so on. It will feel a lot slower than you’re used to. Count it in your head.’
‘Okay,’ Rachel said again. She wished they’d rehearsed this part, and not just what happened in the church, but it had sounded simple when the square was empty. All she had to do was walk across it.
‘Go,’ Francesca urged, and gave her a little push. Rachel stepped through the palace doors. The noise greeted her first, like a towering wave crashing over her. They were cheering. She, the nobody who had been overlooked by everyone for most of her life, even by her parents, now had what felt like the entire world screaming their approval. It was daunting, terrifying even, but also, surprisingly and amazingly, wonderful.
‘Go,’ Francesca whispered, and Rachel started down the shallow steps towards the square, her gown fanning behind her in an elegant arc of lace-edged satin. She knew she was meant to keep her gaze straight ahead, on the path that had been cleared through the crowd, with crowd barriers keeping everyone at bay, but she couldn’t help but meet the gazes of some of the people who had queued for hours simply to be here, to see her.
‘Queen Rachel!’ someone called, and she nearly jerked in surprise. Queen Rachel. If that didn’t sound crazily weird...
‘You’re so beautiful!’ someone else shouted, and she let her gaze move amidst the crowd, settling on as many faces as she could and offering them her smile. Her bouquet was too heavy for her to free one hand to wave, and she hoped her smile was enough.
‘Thank you,’ she heard herself saying. And then, ‘Efharisto. Efharisto!’
The cheers continued all the way across the square, which felt like a hundred miles instead of the equivalent in metres. On impulse, at the doors to the cathedral, she handed her bouquet to a waiting attendant and lifted her hand in a wave that sent the crowd cheering even more wildly. Then she reached for her bouquet and headed into the cool, hushed interior of the cathedral.
She blinked in the candle-flickering gloom, the brightly painted icons of saints visible high in the shadows of the huge cathedral. She took in the pews and pews filled with guests in their wedding finery, and there, at the start of a very long aisle, Mateo, standing by himself, looking devastating in a white tie and tails, bright red and blue royal regalia pinned to his chest. A king. Her king. Waiting to escort her down the aisle and to the ceremony.
For a second, poised on the threshold of her entire life, Rachel hesitated as a thousand thoughts tilted and slid through her mind. Her hands tightened on the bouquet as organ music crashed and swelled.
This was happening. She was doing this. They were doing this. And she hoped and prayed that somehow it would be the right thing for them both.
Mateo’s gaze was fixed on his bride as she turned to face him. Her veil flowed over her shoulders in a lace river, her dress belling out behind in her in a floaty arc of satin. He reached out a hand and, with her gaze fixed on him, she took it. Her fingers slid across his and then tightened. The moment felt suspended, stretching on in significance, before Mateo turned and together they began to walk down the aisle.
He glanced at her as they walked—her chin tilted proudly, her shoulders back, her gaze straight ahead. She was elegant. Regal. Magnificent. Mateo’s heart swelled with pride and something else, something dangerously deeper, as they walked towards the altar. All the unspoken tension and coolness that had existed between them for the last two days fell away in that moment. They were walking towards their future together, and she would soon be his.
The ceremony passed in a dazed blur. As was tradition, every vow was repeated three times, and wedding crowns of laurel placed on their heads, rings slipped onto their right hands, the hand of blessing. The music swelled and Mateo lifted her veil. She smiled at him tremulously, everything she felt and more in her eyes. He kissed her, barely a brush of her lips, but it felt like fireworks exploding in his head.
How was he going to stand this? How was he going to maintain that necessary distance for his own safety, as well as hers?
The questions fell into the tumult of his mind and were lost as the ceremony continued, into their coronation. Now husband and wife, they ascended the steps of the cathedral and knelt, hand in hand, before the two thrones there.
The bishop placed the historic crowns on their heads; the weight was surprising, and Mateo glanced at Rachel, a tremor rippling through him at the beautiful sight of her—wearing both a crown and a wedding dress. His bride. His Queen.
Then the ceremony was over, the crowns removed, and the music started again. After helping her to rise, Mateo escorted her back down the aisle. They were married. Husband and wife, for ever.
‘Did that actually happen?’ Rachel asked shakily as they stood on the steps of the cathedral, blinking in the bright sunlight.
‘It most certainly did.’ Mateo glanced down at the ring sparkling on his hand. He felt changed in a way he hadn’t expected, on a molecular level. His whole being was changed, as if he’d undergone a chemical reaction without realising. He could never go back, and neither could Rachel.
‘What do we do now?’ Rachel asked. ‘I know I’ve been told, but everything feels different now.’
‘It does, doesn’t it?’ He felt a rush of gratitude and even joy that she felt the same as he did. They were changed.
‘I mean, there’s people, for one.’ She gestured to the cro
wds who had been waiting for them to emerge. ‘It’s completely different, to walk across that square when it’s filled with people.’
‘Of course.’ Mateo looked away, annoyed with himself for rushing to such a stupid, sentimental conclusion. They were changed. Right.
‘So should we go? Or do we wait?’
‘We can go.’ His jaw tightened as he reached for her hand. ‘Might as well get this over with.’
Hurt flashed in her eyes as she looked at him. ‘Is that really how you see it, Mateo?’ she asked quietly.
‘I didn’t mean anything by it,’ he said a bit shortly, even though he had. He’d been reminding himself as well as her of what their marriage was really based on, and it wasn’t some stupid rush of emotion.
‘This is our wedding day,’ Rachel stated with quiet dignity. ‘The only one we’ll ever have, God willing. Can’t we enjoy it?’
He felt like a cad then, a real joy-stealing jerk. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘Of course we can. Why don’t we give them a kiss?’
‘Wait—what?’
‘A kiss,’ he said more firmly, and took her into his arms. She came willingly, and as he settled his mouth on hers he felt a deep sense of satisfaction as well as a rush of desire. This part of their marriage, at least, didn’t have to be so complicated.
Rachel’s mouth opened like a flower under his and she reached up to cup his cheek with one hand, in an unsettlingly tender gesture. The crowd roared and stamped and whistled their approval. Reluctantly Mateo broke the kiss. His breathing was ragged and so was Rachel’s.
‘That’s a deposit towards later,’ he said, and she let out a little breathless laugh.
‘Good to know.’
They started the traditional wedding walk across the square to the palace, where they would have a formal wedding breakfast, followed by the carriage ride and then later by a ball. People continued to cheer, reaching their hands across the barriers. It was usual royal protocol to ignore such gestures, but Rachel broke ranks and starting shaking people’s hands, and Mateo started to restrain her before he saw how people were responding to her—with both devotion and joy.