by Nina Milne
But their pursuit of happiness had resulted in Cesar having to take a forced march to the altar. As far as he was concerned Meribel... Luca... Antonio had all lost the royal plot, leaving him and Gabriella to put events back on track. It is as it is, Cesar. Make the best of it. The Cesar Asturias motto.
‘But I don’t believe that is the only way to find happiness, especially for royalty, especially for rulers.’ In truth he didn’t buy the whole love gig, the whole head over heels, giddy, goofy idiocy. ‘Royals don’t live normal lives and I don’t think love does conquer all. And I don’t think it can necessarily survive exposure to royal protocols and pressures.’
A shadow crossed her eyes again and he knew the words would have reminded her of her mother. ‘I am sorry to cause you pain but...’
‘But my parents’ love didn’t survive.’ Her voice was flat, her expression guarded. ‘My mother fled those protocols and pressures.’
‘Yes,’ he said simply. ‘I do not blame her or accuse her. I understand how hard it must have been for her at a court full of unfamiliarity, where emotions had to be hidden and stifled and masked. I do not judge her, but I think it sensible to learn from her, from your parents. That perhaps sometimes the way to happiness is not through love.’
‘But you don’t want to marry me for the sake of happiness,’ she said softly. ‘You want to marry me to forge an alliance between our countries.’
‘Yes. Yet I believe it could still be a happy alliance.’
‘Why? How?’
Now he smiled, wanting to make her frown disappear, wanting to chase away the memories that shadowed her brown eyes. ‘Well, for a start I’m part of the package and I am well known for my charm and wit and brilliance.’ Her gaze met his with a startled expression and his smile broadened as he nodded. ‘I am what is known as a catch.’
‘You forgot an attribute,’ she said.
‘What’s that?’
‘Your endearing sense of modesty.’
That pulled a chuckle from him. ‘Hey, if you don’t believe in yourself, who will?’ He reached out, covered her hands in his own, felt a thrill at the softness of her skin. ‘But in all seriousness, I do believe we could make a go of it; I think we have something to build on.’
‘What’s that?’ She looked down at their clasped hands and he knew his touch affected her as much as it did him.
‘This,’ he said softly. ‘This spark; I felt it from the moment I saw you.’ He gave a small shrug. ‘And I know you feel the same way.’ He grinned. ‘I realise how arrogant that sounds but we’ve established I have no sense of modesty.’
‘I...’ Gabi shook her head. ‘You can’t decide to get married just because there is a spark. Sparks can go out.’
‘Sparks can also be ignited into flames that can be stoked and nurtured, a fire that can continue to burn. I believe our spark is that kind of spark—and I promise I will do all I can to make that happen.’
Her eyes widened now and he saw desire and doubt in them. ‘Let me show you. You said to me yesterday that I should ask your permission to kiss you. I ask that now.’
There was a slight quiver to her low laugh. ‘You’re offering me a taster, a sample?’
‘I’m offering you proof this spark has life to it, that it will not fizzle out.’
She took a deep breath. ‘Then... I grant my permission.’
Gently, his breath catching in his throat, he lifted one hand, gently stroked the crease that lined her forehead, ran his thumb over the fullness of her lower lip and heard her small intake of breath with deep satisfaction, a visceral reaction that stoked his need, a need becoming more primal, more necessary by the second.
He leant forward, his heartbeat accelerated, then his lips met hers, and he tasted the linger of spices, the tang of champagne and all that mattered was the surge of sensation, the drumbeat of desire. All he’d intended was a simple brush of the lips but her small groan undid him and he deepened the kiss, felt desire twist his gut as her fingers tangled in his hair and she matched him passion for passion.
The sound of a bird’s long drawn-out call pulled him back to reality and gently he broke the kiss and they stared at each other. As their ragged breath mingled, a sense of panic assailed him.
Because suddenly the momentum hit him with a whoosh. If all went to plan that would be the first kiss of a lifetime of kisses; he would never kiss another woman again. The idea was huge. Not because he questioned his ability to be faithful, but because this made it real. Not an idea, not a political or diplomatic exercise, but a proper flesh and blood union.
A sudden image of his parents forced its way to his brain, soured the moment. Their relationship had been a political alliance and whilst they had had five children their union had yet been devoid of any sense of passion or joy. It had been founded on duty and evolved no further. And so Cesar had promised himself to eschew marriage and opt for the fun and passion of light hearted affaires.
Now here he was headed towards the altar. But this marriage would not be like his parents’—that kiss had shown him that. And for that he was suddenly immensely grateful—his emotions see-sawing by the second.
Wait a minute. Emotions? See-sawing?
He needed to relax. Gabi was looking at him, her eyes wide with a mixture of shell shock and vulnerability and muted desire.
Think, Cesar.
Before the silence stretched too long, before he succumbed to the overriding urge to kiss her again. The idea of losing control was not congenial—after all, this was a marriage campaign and that meant he had to be in control. Digging deep into his reserves of charm, he managed a smile, one of his best, used when it behoved him to epitomise Prince Charming.
‘So did the sample pass muster?’
Now her expression changed, cooled, and she looked down, almost absent-mindedly dabbed her finger onto the crumbs on her plate. Then raised her head and her gaze met his, almost amused as she nodded.
‘Yes, you passed. Well done,’ she said. ‘The spark box is now ticked. However, obviously there are still a lot more boxes to go. You can’t build a marriage on one kiss.’ Now she was arranging the crumbs in a line. ‘What about us?’
Now it was his turn to frown. ‘Us?’
‘Yes. Us. Two human beings. You are proposing we get married, live together, have children, commit to each other.’ The words in their enormity caused a small shudder of panic to ripple his body, one he quelled instantly. ‘Yet I don’t know you. You don’t know me. And that doesn’t seem to matter to you.’
‘I know this must be hard for you to understand as a concept. But it is what we were brought up to accept as the norm. Marriages made for reasons other than love.’
‘But it’s so impersonal. You want to marry the Casavallian Queen—not me, Gabriella Ross.’
He drummed his fingers on his thigh. ‘But Gabriella Ross is the Queen of Casavalle.’
‘That’s semantics and you know it. If I were still Gabi Ross, book-store owner, you wouldn’t be proposing marriage.’
‘No, I wouldn’t.’ There was no point dressing this up. ‘But you aren’t.’
Her forehead creased in another frown and she narrowed her eyes at him. ‘I get that. My point is you would be proposing to whoever was sitting this side of the table.’ Abandoning the crumbs, she pushed her plate away, picked up her glass and sipped the champagne. ‘You would have set this up for any woman, kissed any woman, regardless of who she was as long as she was the next ruler of Casavalle.’
‘No.’ Now Cesar shook his head. ‘That is not true. I set this up for you. I wanted you to see the maze in all its Christmas magic, I wanted to ride here at sunset with you. And I definitely wanted to kiss you.’
‘But you would have tailor-made a different evening for a different woman.’
‘Perhaps. But at the end of the day this is about you and me.’
> She shook her head. ‘This is about the Prince of Aguilarez and the nearly Queen of Casavalle. Not about Cesar and Gabi. As I said, you would never have proposed to Gabi Ross, book-store owner.’
‘No.’ Again there was no point in muffling the reality of their situation. He kept his gaze on hers. ‘But I would have been attracted to you. I would have wanted to kiss you. The spark between us—that is real, that is between you and me. Gabi and Cesar. And that is important.’
‘There are other things that are more important,’ she said.
‘I agree. And I realise I have sprung this idea on you, that you need time to process it. All I ask is that you consider what I have said today.’
‘I promise I will think about it.’
‘I can’t ask more than that.’ Indeed he couldn’t. He topped up their glasses and raised his. ‘To good thoughts,’ he said. ‘Now let us finish our meal—the selection of desserts is amazing. We can eat them in the moonlight and simply talk about other things. And then I will escort you home.’
* * *
The next morning, seated in the splendour of the palace library, her favourite room in the whole palace, the one where she felt most at home, Gabi prepared herself for her usual morning routine. A cup of tea by her side, curled up in an ornate overstuffed armchair, newspapers and netbook on the table in front of her, she fervently hoped that an imposition of normality could somehow balance out the surrealism of the previous evening. Cesar Asturias wanted to marry her. Cesar Asturias had kissed her. Gabi closed her eyes as her entire body tingled at the memory.
Enough. That kiss had meant nothing to Cesar—it had been a sampler, a proof that their marriage would contain a spark. He would have kissed any woman like that—he was an expert after all. Though just after, for an instant she would have sworn his eyes held a look of shock that no doubt mirrored her own. But then he’d blinked and she’d decided she must have imagined it.
Especially when he’d smiled the slow, satisfied smile of a man who knew he’d scored a winner. Which was when reality had doused her like a downspout of freezing water—the kiss might have been completely outside Gabi’s experience...but not out of his.
Cesar Asturias was a man with a whole lot of experience in the kissing department, and she would not let herself be manipulated into marriage based on one expert lip lock.
In which case perhaps she should stop thinking about the damn kiss, and brace herself for her morning dose of the headlines.
Two minutes later she gave a muffled shriek as she absorbed the words, stared at the newspapers’ headlines, at the netbook screen open to the celebrity pages. Shock rippled through her.
Royal Romance in the Air?
Could This Be Love?
A Private Picnic?
Diplomacy or Dalliance?
The accompanying photographs were even worse. Pictures from her presentation ball. Her and Cesar in conversation, her expression fierce. Then that waltz, her face tipped up with an intent look, as if her life depended on him. Then the actual article, nauseating paragraph after paragraph of speculation as to how a rocky start had led to a dance of dreaminess.
Then there were pictures of the picnic hampers being driven to the ‘rendezvous’.
Sources confirm a romantic supper ‘à deux’ was requested by the clearly besotted Prince.
Besotted. Ha! When she got her hands on the ‘sources’ she would—
At that moment there was a knock on the door, it swung open and one of the palace staff entered. ‘His Royal Highness Prince Cesar of Aguilarez,’ he intoned.
Ah...the besotted Prince himself, looking anything but.
‘Thank you, Leo.’ She waited until the staff member had gone and then, ‘Have you seen these?’ she demanded.
‘Yes. I came straight over so we can discuss a publicity strategy.’
Gabi looked at him open-mouthed. ‘A strategy? How about complete outright denial?’
‘That is one option,’ he agreed.
‘I sense that you have other preferred ones.’
‘That depends.’ He came further into the room, sat opposite her and despite her horror at the headlines she couldn’t help her body’s awareness of his proximity, that strange ripple in her tummy his presence caused. ‘On what you have decided after our discussion last night.’
It was a question she had tussled with for most of a sleepless night, thoughts whirling in a restless vortex around her brain, interspersed with vivid images of their kiss. Because whilst Cesar was the epitome of the handsome prince and he had her hormones in a twirl...she had to remember that this was not a book, not a classic romance or a fairy tale. This was real life. Her life, his life, and scarily the decisions they made now would impact on the politics and well-being of their two countries as well as themselves. Eventually as she’d dropped into a doze as the dawn light had crept through the windows, she had come to a decision. ‘I had decided that there would be no harm in discussing the matter further, rather than dismissing it out of hand.’
‘Good. Then there is another viable strategy to deal with these articles. Apart from denial.’
‘Such as?’
‘We go along with it.’
Gabi blinked, tried to modulate her voice, tried to keep herself from grabbing him by his broad shoulders and shaking him. ‘And why would we do that?’
‘Because these articles are feel good; they are positive—there is a tacit acceptance that you are royal, there is no mention of scandal, usurpers, pregnancies, jilted at the altar. All that is positive.’
Gabi stared at him and her eyes narrowed. ‘Anyone would think you’d planned it yourself. Did you “leak” any of this; are you the “source” quoted?’
‘I didn’t plan it, but I didn’t stop it either.’
Fabulous. ‘So you have tacitly encouraged these fluffy, sickly, completely incorrect stories?’ Unable to help it, she started to pace—perhaps she should be being suitably royal and poker-faced, but tough.
‘Yes. I could have shut it down. I chose not to. Because I prefer to have a certain level of control of the stories, otherwise the press can pretty much make it up.’
‘So instead you have made it up?’
‘Yes. And I think we should continue to do so.’
‘But it is insane. Surely they can’t believe what they are writing. They must know that we barely know each other.’
‘They are writing to sell their publications and people like romance. They want to believe the fairy tales. Think how they work out. The prince fits a glass slipper onto a mystery girl’s foot and they live happily ever after. The prince fights through brambles, kisses a sleeping princess he has never even met because she has been asleep for a hundred years and they live happily ever after. People like stories like that. They almost see us royals as fictional characters, so why not provide a feel-good story?’
‘Because we aren’t fictional. We’re real. And newsflash...we may not get married. In fact the chances of us getting married are marginally marginal. And even if we do there won’t be any fluffy romance, any glass slippers. No fairy-tale ending.’
‘But we can give an illusion of romance whilst we decide what we want to do. This kind of press is good publicity. Good for both our countries. It will distract attention away from all the scandals. We are planning to spend some time together getting to know each other; we can manage the publicity. Use it to our advantage.’
‘So you think we should encourage the press to speculate that there is “romance in the air” whilst we spend time together figuring out if we want to make a cold-blooded alliance.’
‘Not cold-blooded, no,’ he said softly.
And there was that ripple of attraction. Again. To her relief a timid knock at the door was followed by the entrance of another of the palace staff, pushing a laden trolley in. ‘Leo asked me to bring refreshments, ma’am.’
‘Thank you, Donna,’ Gabi said, waited as the young woman busied herself arranging the tea things on the table, caught the quick speculative glance she threw at Cesar before she left.
Cesar waited for the door to click shut and then, ‘For example, we could have used that opportunity to give the impression of romance, let the spark show a little—then Donna would take that story back to the kitchen staff and that’s how rumours grow.’
‘Let the spark show.’ Gabi closed her eyes in disbelief. ‘Right now I’m not sure whether to be pleased or horrified that a spark exists at all, so the idea of deliberately flaunting it in public doesn’t fill me with joy.’
‘Flaunting is too strong a word,’ he said blithely. ‘The occasional look, the brush of our hands, a hand on the arm...no more than that, nothing that detracts from royal dignity. But to create an illusion, you have to live the illusion.’
Gabriella stared at him. ‘You make it sound so easy.’
‘It will be easy. The attraction exists—there will be no need to act. Do not look so worried. It will be like the waltz—we will pull it off.’
Like the waltz. The memory of his arms around her, the feel of his body next to hers...the attraction existed all right.
As he poured her a cup of tea, he raised his eyebrows as his hand hovered over the milk jug and he glanced at her in question.
‘Just black, please. It’s rooibos, one of my favourites.’ Gabi gave a small laugh. ‘For heaven’s sake, you don’t even know how I take my tea, but you want to marry me.’
‘But after today I will know. We will learn about each other. And if we decide we will not suit then so be it. But in the meantime, I believe the romance strategy works. What do you think?’
Gabi tried to focus, to consider her options. She and Cesar were going to spend time together regardless; they couldn’t tell the press the truth as to why and there would be speculation whatever they did. So... ‘Fine. I’ll do it.’
‘Excellent. I will coordinate the publicity with your palace secretary.’
‘Sure.’ All of it was suddenly overwhelming and as she sipped her tea the taste was so very evocative of her book store, of her former life, that she felt a sudden threat of tears, closed her eyes to try and blink them away.