Their Christmas Royal Wedding

by Nina Milne

  ‘I...’ Dammit—she deserved better than the platitudes he knew he could reel out, the diplomatic assurances he could craft. ‘I’ll do my best,’ he said, the lameness apparent to his own ears, and he knew she deserved more than that as well. He watched as she carefully spooned the mixture into a cake tin. ‘I realise that sounds meh at best. But it’s hard for me to imagine being a good father, because I don’t have a role model. And I don’t have the sort of imagination you have to be able to picture one.’

  ‘What about your own father?’

  Cesar hesitated and then shrugged, knew she deserved a real explanation. ‘My parents...they did everything for duty, for Aguilarez. Including having children; sometimes I felt as though we were their gift to the country, a duty done. Then after we were born it was their duty to mould us into the sons and daughters of Aguilarez. But by so doing it was as if that absolved them of any duty to make us feel wanted on a personal level. So I saw very little of him and when I did it was more of an audience, an update report, a tick-the-box exercise.’ He could still remember the discomfort of the starched clothes, the perfectly combed hair, the exhortations from the nanny of the day not to fidget, to enunciate, to be polite. ‘A time where I had to be on best behaviour.’

  ‘And did you always behave?’

  ‘Yes. Especially once I’d figured out that it wasn’t only us who bore the consequences if I didn’t, but it was the nannies too.’ He flushed now, slightly uncomfortable. ‘It sounds horrible now but I did realise that gave me a level of power. It was always easier to persuade them to give us a treat just before a parental meeting.’

  Gabriella looked at him. ‘So your childhood was really a string of negotiations.’

  ‘Life is a string of negotiations,’ he said.

  ‘Maybe, but it shouldn’t be and childhood certainly shouldn’t be that. And I don’t want it to be that way for my children.’

  ‘Neither do I.’ And that was the honest truth. ‘I would do my best, Gabi. To be there for them, to kick a ball around, teach them how to ride a bike or bake a cake. I’ll try to be there for them.’ Somehow he’d conquer the terror that twisted his guts with the fear he’d get it wrong. After all, Cesar Asturias feared nothing.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said softly. ‘Sometimes all we can do is our best.’

  And he was man who had always made sure his best was good enough.

  Picking up the cake tin, he went over and popped it into the oven. ‘As this has become a kind of interview, I too have a question I need to ask. Perhaps we could have coffee whilst the cake bakes and we can talk.’

  * * *

  Gabi’s head whirled as it tried to process the information he had given her about royal childhoods. Cold, damaging, miserable, sad...all those words chased each other around her head. Most of all though she wanted to offer comfort, but she knew that would not be welcomed.

  ‘Fire away,’ she said as the smell of the cake, the rich deep chocolate, started to pervade the kitchen.

  He waited until he had made the coffee and she accepted the cup with appreciation.

  ‘There is something we have not spoken of,’ he said. ‘My relationships have been in the public domain, but we have never discussed your past relationships.’ He raised a hand. ‘I am not trying to pry but from a publicity angle I do need to know if any ex-suitors will come out of the woodwork.’

  Gabriella shook her head. ‘I had two relationships. Both serious at the time.’ Though now, somehow the memories had faded, seemed blurred and sepia.

  ‘Tell me.’ The words were a touch on the curt side and for one dizzying, stupid moment Gabriella wondered if it bothered him. Then her brain told her not to be stupid. As if. Cesar didn’t care. Any more than she cared about all his exes.

  Only that wasn’t true, was it? She did care, not because she was jealous, but because they made her feel inadequate. For an instant an image of his most recent girlfriend, Lady Amelia Scott-Browne, popped into her head even though she knew that Lady Amelia and Cesar had broken up some time ago. Yet Lady Amelia had been so poised, beautiful, always immaculate, elegant, versed in which knife and fork to use.

  Realising that he was still waiting, she regrouped. ‘Steve and Paul.’ Resolutely she pulled them to mind. Steve—blond, blue-eyed, medium build, kind features, slightly receding hairline, sweet, average. Paul, brown-haired, hazel-eyed, craggy features, long hair, sweet, average. ‘They were both really nice guys. But somehow it didn’t pan out either time. I met Steve very soon after my aunt and uncle passed away and I was in the throes of grief and I dealt with that by throwing myself into work. I got so caught up in the book store that in the end he got frustrated. Wanted a girlfriend who had more time for him. I was sad. But I understood.’

  Cesar frowned. ‘Surely he could have been supportive, understood how important it was to you.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ Gabriella said. ‘But I was...well, I was quite obsessed really and I should have been more willing to spend more time with him. It was the same with Paul. He wanted me to slow down. We both wanted the same things; we just had different ideas about how it would work. He assumed when we got married, I’d sell up or delegate more and I didn’t want to do that. Or at least it never quite seemed the right time. In the end they both moved on.’

  ‘But you loved them both.’

  Gabriella looked back into the past. Had she loved them? ‘I genuinely believed we matched; were on the same page, could bring up children together and have a normal, happy family life.’ The thing she’d craved all her life. ‘But in the end I wasn’t enough for them.’

  So how on earth could she ever be enough for this man? Doubts swirled. She’d been with Steve and Paul for eighteen months and two years respectively. That was the length of time she could keep an average man—what hope did she have with Cesar?

  It was a relief when the ping of the oven indicated the cake was ready.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  TWO DAYS LATER Cesar gave his reflection a perfunctory check, made sure there was no spot on his tie, no dust on his suit because, despite the fact that Antonio and Tia’s wedding was to be private, there would still be photographers covering the arrival and departure of guests—a fact he had every intention of using to his advantage.

  His and Gabriella’s.

  He rolled his eyes as he caught the small goofy smile on his lips, brought about by the thought of Casavalle’s Queen-in-waiting.

  Enough. There was no need for goofiness, rather the smile should be one of satisfaction, that his courtship was going well, that there was a certainty of a union less cold than that of his parents. The kisses they had shared had shown him that—his body still tied in knots.

  Turning away from his reflection, he headed for the door and the chauffeur-driven car that would take him to Casavalle, where he’d arranged to meet Gabriella prior to the ceremony, so they could make the walk to the chapel together.

  Forty-five minutes later he alighted in the courtyard, raised a hand in acknowledgement as the photographers clicked, made sure that the small package was just visible in the pocket of his suit as he entered the palace and made his way to the reception room.

  He pushed open the door, and felt his lungs constrict slightly. The dress she wore was perfect for the occasion, navy blue, simple in its structural cut and demure neckline, but made that little bit different by the statement flared sleeves. Her chestnut hair fell free to her shoulders. ‘You look stunning,’ he said simply.

  Gabriella looked down at herself. ‘I have to admit I am having doubts. Fashion was never my thing.’

  ‘It’s beautiful,’ he assured her.

  ‘You’ve scrubbed up pretty well yourself.’

  ‘Apart from the shadows under my eyes,’ he said, with a smile. ‘I stayed up late reading.’

  ‘You did?’

  ‘I did.’ In truth it had started as a homework exercise�
�he wanted to be able to show Gabriella that he had tried. Had decided to read a chapter. But to his astonishment the book had gripped him, and it had only been the chime of the clock at an advanced hour that had forced him to turn the light out. ‘It was a good choice.’

  ‘I’m glad.’

  ‘Now I have brought you this.’ He handed her a slim box, watched as she opened it to reveal a posy of flowers designed so that they could be pinned to her dress.

  ‘From the Aguilarean palace gardens.’

  Her brown eyes surveyed him. ‘So if I wear it, it will send out a subtle romantic message for the press to pick up on. And it could also be seen as a symbol of our countries’ friendship.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘An excellent prop,’ she said coolly. ‘For our double act.’

  ‘That is what I thought. I also hoped you would like them; I did pick them myself.’ He hesitated. ‘Is something wrong?’

  Her expression relaxed. ‘Yes...no... It’s just hard for me to get my head round a political alliance and fake romance. Our last two “dates” were different, more private—the press were hardly there. Today they will be watching and I don’t want them to focus on us rather than on Antonio and Tia’s wedding and—’

  ‘Hey. Slow down. There would be public interest in you regardless of our supposed romance. And from what I know of Antonio he will be more than happy for the attention to be diverted from him.’

  She inhaled a deep breath and he watched her straighten up. ‘You’re right.’

  ‘I am. Now let me pin it on,’ he said, seeing her small grimace of frustration as she made the attempt.

  He headed towards her, aware that he was holding his breath as he carefully pinned the arrangement to her dress, closed his eyes briefly at her proximity, at the sheen of her chestnut hair, the scent of jasmine that tantalised his senses. Felt the tiny shudder that rippled her body and knew she felt it too.

  ‘Shall we go?’ Her voice was breathless as she stepped back. ‘I said we would meet everyone else in the reception hall, then we can all walk to the chapel together. Antonio is already at the church with Luca. But the rest of the party is here.’

  He nodded. ‘Tia, her mother Grace, Miles.’ The palace secretary who, rumour had it, had fallen hard for Tia’s mother, Grace Phillips.

  ‘Yes. Antonio has also invited Gina and Enrico, who are valued staff members, and Tia has asked her bosses from the UK—Lucia and Giovanni. They are lovely.’ She glanced at him. ‘No doubt you’ve done your research.’

  ‘Of course. I am here, after all, to represent Aguilarez.’ He smiled at her. ‘But after the wedding I have our next “date” planned.’ And again there was the sense of anticipation. ‘We are going on a plane journey so I can show you an aerial view of our countries.’

  ‘Another geographical history lesson?’

  ‘Perhaps. But it is also a venue where the press cannot follow us—where we can be private. So if you are worried about the press now just think about later, when we will escape them.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Her smile was genuine and he felt a satisfaction at being responsible for the lightening of tension in her face.

  They walked down the marbled hall, then entered the reception room. He smiled at Tia, whom he had briefly met at the presentation ball. She was pretty and right now she glowed with a radiance it was impossible to ignore. She was dressed in a simple floaty, flowered dress, her happiness evident, as was her pride in her pregnancy, shown by the protective hand over the curve of her belly. They were doing the right thing, but again the timing of this could not be worse. More scandal, more rumour and speculation.

  But now wasn’t the time for this. Now was the time to focus on the small talk, circulate the group, chat to each and every one. Then the walk across the courtyard to the chapel; this was all important as he knew there would be eagle-eyed reporters who would spot the flowers pinned to Gabriella’s dress, would also note how close they stood together. Zoom in on the light touch to her arm as he pointed something out. Satisfaction at a job well done inexplicably battled with a frisson of unease, the knowledge that he took way more than a clinical pleasure in her closeness. A strange desire to protect her, mixed with more primeval desire.

  It was with relief that he entered the chapel, heard Gabi’s intake of breath, and as he looked round he understood why.

  ‘It’s spectacular,’ she breathed as Tia turned to her mum.

  ‘Mum. It’s gorgeous, perfect. Thank you.’

  The older woman beamed and suddenly Cesar felt a small wrench—his own mother had never once looked at him like that; no one had. Next to him he felt Gabi tense, knew she was missing her own mother.

  ‘You’re welcome, sweetheart. It wasn’t just me, though. I couldn’t have done it without Miles.’

  Next to her the palace secretary smiled self-deprecatingly, but his expression as he stepped closer to Grace Phillips was full of warmth and affection.

  ‘I know that and I truly appreciate all your help, Miles. With everything.’

  Tia’s mum suffered from chronic fatigue and therefore her words were not mere gloss, they were valid. And that made Miles’ love even more worthy. In sickness and in health. Words Cesar planned to say soon enough to the woman standing next to him now. And again the thought made the whole plan more real, more intimate, made moisture sheen his neck.

  As he followed Gabriella to the front pew to join Imogen and Queen Maria he glanced to the front where Antonio stood, upright and proud, his entire being focused on his bride. It was not Antonio Valenti’s way to show emotion, but the look in his eyes said it all for him. And again Cesar wanted to shift from foot to foot, felt inexplicably small and uncomfortable as the ceremony progressed.

  Grace walked her daughter down the aisle and it was impossible now to believe this marriage was one simply of honour, when he saw the way Antonio and Tia looked at each other, the way they exchanged their vows as if each and every word mattered, love abounded in every syllable. He glanced over at Luca and Imogen and saw how they looked at each other, the way they held hands. Then of course there was Tia’s mother and the palace secretary. Everywhere he looked there was an aura of love and it was making him distinctly uncomfortable, especially when he thought he detected a hint of wistfulness in Gabriella’s smile.

  For a moment he wondered if he should have swallowed his scruples and pretended to offer her love, pretended to emulate the sap and pap and sighs and giddiness. But how could that work? How could he build this union on illusion and deceit? How would he be able to sustain the illusion for decades? And he had no wish for or ability to feel real love. After all, if you’d never been shown love how could you feel it? And why give anyone that sort of power over you anyway? So better for them both to go into marriage with the same goals. That was the way to build a working relationship, a lasting partnership.

  He returned his focus to the couple at the front. ‘You may kiss the bride.’

  Antonio leaned forward and, oh, so gently...oh, so filled with awe, as if Tia was the most precious person on this earth, he kissed her.

  Around him Cesar could hear the intake of breath, had no doubt there was a tear in the corner of every eye except his as the swell of classical music touched the air.

  The now wed couple walked back down the aisle, their faces lit up, hand in hand, and soon the small congregation followed. ‘That was beautiful,’ Gabriella said and now he could hear the wistfulness in her voice, knew she didn’t mean the actual quality of the dress or the flowers. She meant the love that permeated the occasion. And that he couldn’t offer her.

  * * *

  Gabi admired the beautifully decorated room, one of the numerous reception rooms in Casavalle’s palace. Once again she marvelled at the décor, given how busy everyone had also been with Christmas preparations.

  But it was more than that; Grace Phillips had wanted to make this
beautiful and personal for her daughter. And she had definitely succeeded. She must have spent a long time considering how to make this room different from the others and she’d done so through simplicity. The whole room was themed with green and white, the use of delicate white flowers and green foliage almost ethereally pretty. Delicate, fresh, new and somehow joyous.

  Gabi looked round at the small gathering of people and swallowed the lump in her throat. Just months ago she hadn’t known these people, even that this place existed. Now she had a family. Two brothers, now a sister-in-law and soon she would be an aunt.

  Her gaze skimmed to Cesar, who was chatting to Antonio, looking relaxed and smiling. This was a man who wanted her to be a wife, a mother to their children. The idea was so surreal she closed her eyes. Images hit her—of a small dark-haired boy with Cesar’s brown eyes.

  ‘You OK?’

  She turned to see Imogen, her best friend, now also her brother’s fiancée, at her side. ‘I’m fine. Are you OK?’ She saw Imogen’s eyes rest on Tia, one hand on her belly.

  ‘Yes. I am happy for Tia. Truly I am. As for us, Luca says we will figure out a way to have a family if that’s what we want. But if it doesn’t work out I am more than enough for him.’ Imogen’s lips curved up into a smile. ‘And the wonderful thing is I know he is telling the truth, because I feel the same way.’

  There was a twinge of envy again, but alongside it was the knowledge that it would be easier, less pressured for Luca and Imogen now that he wouldn’t be ruler. Did Cesar have a point—maybe love was more ‘affordable’, more likely to thrive if you weren’t a ruler.

  Imogen’s gaze turned to Cesar and then turned back to Gabi. ‘Tell me, what is going on there? I saw the speculations in the press, but I’ve learnt to take them with a hefty pinch of salt.’

  ‘It’s complicated.’ Gabi could feel her skin heat and her gaze skittered away from Imogen’s blue eyes. ‘We’re just spending some time together.’