Their Christmas Royal Wedding

by Nina Milne

  The sadness vanished and there was her beautiful smile again. ‘Then let’s make the tree a magical one. We’ll go for white and gold and make it the kind of tree that you’d find in a fairy tale. Let’s go and decorate.’

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  ‘RIGHT,’ SAID GABRIELLA. ‘We need a plan. The lights have to go on first, then the tinsel.’

  ‘I am completely in your hands,’ Cesar said, and revelled in the blush that touched her cheeks. A satisfaction that morphed into a desire to kiss her, an urge that was hard to deny. If she married him, of course, then they would be able to kiss whenever they wanted, the idea both scary and wonderful. Scary enough to cause him to focus on winding the lights around the tree.

  The next hour was...fun, he realised when, breathlessly, they surveyed the end result of their efforts. The tree swirled with magic, illuminated by the white lights that twinkled and glinted, the gold ornaments lit by the flames of the fire. The whole creation was topped by a star of multi-faceted crystalline beauty.

  ‘One last thing,’ he said.

  Gabi turned to him in question and then her face broke into a smile as he pulled a box out of one of the shopping bags.

  ‘Chocolates,’ he explained. ‘To hang on the tree. For us.’ He glanced at the tree slightly guiltily. ‘As long as it doesn’t spoil the overall pattern.’

  ‘Chocolate can never spoil anything. Thank you. This was really thoughtful.’ For a second he held his breath. Half hoping, half terrified that she would kiss him again. His cheek still tingled from the butterfly kiss she’d given him in the car.

  She stepped forward and then back again as if common sense had overcome desire; perhaps she too had the same breathless, heady sense of nerves.

  ‘You’re welcome.’ He gestured to the sofa. ‘Come and sit down and survey the splendour of our creation and I’ll go get us some hot chocolate.’

  * * *

  Gabi stared into the flames, watched as they leapt and danced to the crackle of the logs. For the first time in such a long time she felt relaxed...normal, and it was wonderful. And all thanks to Cesar. She looked up as he re-entered the lounge, bearing two large steaming mugs.

  ‘That smells divine.’

  ‘I’ve put in a secret ingredient—a shot of rum.’

  He sat next to her and the reassuring bulk of his body felt warm and cosy and intimate as they both watched the twinkle of the Christmas lights on the tree.

  ‘Thank you. It was lovely to decorate a tree with someone again.’

  ‘You said you used to decorate with your aunt?’

  ‘Yes. The first Christmas after my mom died Aunt Bea took me to buy tree decorations. I was only four but the memory is really clear. I think it was the first time Aunt Bea had bought so many decorations. To be honest I don’t think they bothered with a tree before they took me in. After that we used the same decorations every year—even when they got tatty, I insisted. In my head they were somehow traditional, connected with my mother and family.’ Gabi swallowed a sudden lump in her throat; decorating the tree had been a time when she had felt truly close to her aunt. She could still remember the way the elderly woman had followed the ritual every year, pushing her glasses up her nose every time she stood back to check on their progress. ‘After they died, I couldn’t bring myself to do it any more. I decorated the tree in the book store instead.’

  ‘You must have missed them very much.’

  ‘I did—I still do. Right after they died I felt so...alone in the world. Orphaned all over again. I don’t really remember much of my mother, but I do remember a warmth, a sense of safety and love that I associate with her. And I also remember the utter confusion, the bewilderment I felt when she died. I was too little to comprehend what it meant. But Aunt Bea and Uncle Peter were there for me.’ At such a personal cost. ‘And I will always be grateful for that. It’s good to talk about them.’ Something she seldom had the opportunity to do.

  ‘Tell me about them.’

  Gabi hesitated—wondered if the crackle of the flames, the absolute marvel of being alone with no staff, no schedule, no expectations, no publicity had gone to her head. Or was it the genuine interest in Cesar’s eyes. Who knew? But she wanted to share some of her life with him.

  ‘Uncle Peter was my mother’s older brother. Half-brother, in fact, and he was much older than her. Nearly thirty years; they weren’t close at all. He was already in his late fifties when my mother left Casavalle, and he was in his sixties when she died. He and my Aunt Bea had no children through choice. I think I...bewildered them.’ She was tempted to confide it all—that overheard conversation, the fact that they had given up their dreams for her, but she didn’t. Knew her aunt and uncle had never wanted her to know, wary too that Cesar might see the revelation and its impact on her as an emotional moment of weakness. ‘But they did their best.’ Just as Cesar had promised to do as a father. ‘They bought the book store, started a whole new career, made sure I got a good education, taught me so much. And I will always be grateful for that.’

  ‘They sound like good people,’ he said softly. ‘The times you have described with them are good memories. They spent time with you, you cooked together, walked together, gave each other gifts, decorated a tree together...they encouraged your love of books.’

  Now she could see the shadowed pain in his eyes, knew he was remembering his own childhood where his own parents had spent minimal personal time with him.

  Her heart bled for the young Cesar, bred through duty not love, and then treated as a royal pawn rather than a little boy, and she shifted towards him. Said nothing because she sensed sympathy or pity would be anathema to him, hoped that somehow her closeness would convey understanding.

  They sat like that for a timeless moment, and then he turned and smiled at her. ‘I wish I could have met your aunt and uncle. Thank you for sharing your memories.’ He rose to his feet. ‘Now I think it’s time for dinner. Wait here and I will get it.’

  ‘We’re going to eat here?’

  ‘Yes.’ His expression looked unsure. ‘Unless you’d prefer to sit at a table. I thought you’d appreciate as much informality as possible.’

  Again a funny warmth touched her. Again she wished she knew if this was a ploy or real. Or whether it actually mattered.

  * * *

  Ten minutes later Cesar re-entered the lounge, pushing a trolley forward. Two plates covered with silver-domed cloches. ‘Here we are,’ he announced as he approached the sofa and removed the covers with a flourish.

  Gabi broke into a delighted peal of laughter. ‘Pizza!’ she exclaimed.

  ‘But not any old pizza. This is Aguilarean pizza. The base is sourdough and the olives are home grown and the tomato sauce is a state secret. Truly, you will never have eaten pizza like this.’ He handed her her plate, picked up his own and sat down next to her.

  Gabi gave a small exhalation of pure satisfaction. ‘No cutlery in sight,’ she murmured. ‘Perfect. Finger food I can manage.’ She took her first bite, closed her eyes in appreciation and Cesar felt his own lips curve into a smile even as desire tugged inside him. ‘This is incredible. Why haven’t I tried this before?’

  ‘I don’t know. You could go and request pizza from the Casavallian kitchens, but it wouldn’t be as good. Or better yet go in person and ask.’

  ‘I wouldn’t dare!’ Gabi looked horrified. ‘They are so busy and they terrify me. Plus I’m not sure Maria would like it.’

  ‘Maria is a wonderful woman and an excellent queen, but she is a different person from you. You need to do things your way.’

  Gabi bit her lip. ‘It’s not that easy. I have so much to learn; and everyone else knows more than I do about everything.’ She picked up another slice of pizza. ‘I know that’s a bit sweeping but it’s true.’

  ‘No. It isn’t. I can think of something you know more about.’

  ‘You can
?’

  ‘Yes. Books.’

  ‘Right... But I’m not sure that’s a great help to ruling.’

  ‘Actually I disagree. You don’t just care about books. You told me that you believe everyone should read. That sounds more like a policy in the making than a hobby.’

  There was a short pause and her eyes lit up in sudden understanding, sparked into enthusiasm as she stared at him. ‘I could promote literacy in Casavalle. I ran classes myself in Crystal Lake, taught people of all ages. Did you know, according to some reports, it is possible that two in five Canadians have low literacy? Sometimes it’s because they have undiagnosed dyslexia or they have low attendance due to their home life. And it holds them back all their life—makes it harder to get a job, makes so much of everyday tasks more difficult and deprives them of the sheer pleasure of reading. I am sure that there are people here who have the same difficulties.’

  He nodded, touched by the sheer passion and vibe to her voice, the belief in the cause. Lord knew, he understood that.

  ‘You could also speak with my father about the idea of rolling out a similar programme in Aguilarez.’

  ‘Speak with your father?’ Her face dropped. ‘I... I...’

  ‘He is not a tyrant,’ Cesar said. ‘He is driven by duty and I believe he will see that this is a worthy cause that will benefit his people. It is just not something that has occurred to him.’

  He watched as she tackled another piece of pizza, could almost see her brain whir and process ideas. ‘I’ll need to talk to my Education minister.’

  Cesar hid the small smile as he heard her describe the minister as ‘hers’ but, as was her wont, she caught it and smiled right back at him.

  ‘Don’t I sound all grand and regal?’ she said. ‘But, truly, I’m excited about this. I’ll need to review the education statistics, look into any charitable foundations that already exist. Call in the people who run them.’

  He nodded, sensed her energy and verve. ‘Speak with some teachers, find out how much provision is made for children with reading difficulties.’

  ‘And why stop there? I need to think about all children, all people with learning difficulties, mental-health issues.’ She waved her pizza. ‘Would you mind brainstorming with me?’

  ‘I’d love to,’ he said, almost surprised to know he completely meant it.

  As they spoke and swapped ideas over the rest of the pizza, followed by chocolate ice-cream, the atmosphere seemed to crackle and buzz in time with the sizzle of the logs on the fire, the pop of the flames in the air. And gradually, as the words began to run dry, awareness grew as he observed the animation on her face, the gesture of her hands, the brightness of her eyes, her sheer vitality.

  Until the words seemed to slow down and finally trickled to a stop and he realised just how close Gabriella was—so very, very close... And as if she realised the same she stilled, and her brown eyes widened as their gazes caught.

  He knew he had to say something and the words came naturally. ‘The more I get to know you, the more I believe you are the exact ruler Casavalle needs. You bring a change of attitude, because you have experienced life as a non-royal and you bring a different perspective. You will be a great queen.’

  ‘Do you really think so?’ Her voice held shyness, doubt, but a growing confidence as well.

  ‘Yes.’ He kept his voice steady, willing her to believe the words. ‘I really do.’

  Now there was a silence, but this silence echoed and reverberated with unsaid words, unnecessary words as mutual yearning hovered and meshed the very air and drew them towards each other until now the gap between them was infinitesimal. Then Gabriella closed that gap, and brushed her lips against his. Cesar released the breath he hadn’t even known he held, and he lifted his hands, threaded them through the silken mass of her hair. The tang of dark chocolate, the scent of her vanilla shampoo, assailed his senses and he was lost.

  She deepened the kiss, pressed against him with a small moan; her fingers fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, slid over his chest and he groaned her name and then they somehow tumbled off the sofa onto the fleecy softness of the rug, warmed by the flames whilst outside moonlight dappled the stone turrets and the ornate fountains.

  A sudden pop of a log penetrated the intense fugue of desire and Gabriella pulled abruptly away, scrambled up to a sitting position and looked down at him, dismay breaking through the dazed look of desire as they stared at each other.

  She looked so damned beautiful and guilt fought its way to the surface—he should not have let this happen. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I didn’t mean to get so carried away.’ And he hadn’t. That had not been part of his marriage campaign; in truth the campaign hadn’t so much as crossed his mind.

  She caught her lower lip between her teeth. ‘Neither did I. I’m sorry too.’

  All he wanted now was to take the stricken look from her face. ‘Then we are both sorry, but look at me, Gabi. Please.’

  She did so, her gaze half shy, half vulnerable, and he continued, ‘I find it hard to regret, because I wanted to kiss you, you wanted to kiss me. What happened here—it wasn’t wrong and we were at least saved by the fire from going any further. It is done—let us simply remember it as a beautiful memory, rather than something we regret. Deal?’

  A pause and then she nodded. ‘You’re right. It’s a deal,’ she said.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  GABI OPENED HER EYES, blinked at the unfamiliar canopy above her, turned her head to see the vast bedroom, filled with heavy dark furniture, the loom of a mahogany wardrobe in the corner, the sharp edges of the ornate desk by the barred window. Another blink and memories tumbled into her still-sleep-drowsed brain. Had it all been a dream?

  Nope...the feel of Cesar’s body pressed against her, the soft fleece of the rug, the warmth of the fire, his lips on hers... That had all happened. Lifting her fingers to touch her swollen lips, she closed her eyes, tried to tell herself that at least they had come to their senses before they had actually slept together. That would have been stupid. Yet, stupid or not, a part of her cursed that falling log, wished that they had continued that magical journey, her whole body still alive and alight and wanting more.

  Gabi exhaled a sigh——what had happened to not letting physical attraction fuzz her brain?

  Well, it was time to face the music, endure the sheer awkwardness of the morning after.

  And yet when, twenty minutes later, she entered the cavernous kitchen Cesar turned from the counter and smiled at her with such an easy, natural smile that the tension left her shoulders and she even managed a return smile.

  ‘Good morning,’ he said. ‘I thought we could have breakfast in the morning room and then laze the day away reading in front of the fire.’

  The mention of the fire caused a flush to heat her cheeks but she welcomed the plan, was grateful for his aplomb and for the offer of escape into a fictional world. And once she was actually curled up on the rug, close to the warmth of the fire, a cup of tea by her side, she did indeed lose herself in the pages and watched with satisfaction as Cesar did the same. His absorption was genuine—she could see that from the way his dark eyes focused, the steady pace at which he turned the pages, the fact his tea was left untouched as he read the classic fantasy adventure that she’d hoped he loved as much as she did.

  The only disturbance was a break for lunch—ciabatta bread with cold meats and regional cheeses—and not long after that his phone rang. He left the room, then popped his head round the door. ‘I’ve got to go out for a bit to pick up some supplies. Keep reading and I’ll try not to be gone long.’

  But it was a while before he reappeared, and as she looked up at him she saw an expression she couldn’t interpret on his face. Excitement? Nerves? It was hard to tell.

  ‘Actually—we’re going out,’ he said.

  ‘OK.’ Gabi slipped her bookmark i
nto the book and closed it. ‘Where to? Do I need to change?’

  ‘Just wrap up warm,’ he said. ‘And meet me outside.’

  Fifteen minutes later Gabi ran lightly down the stairs and across the stone floor to the imposing arched front door. Stepping outside, she gave a small gasp of wonder; outside on the snow-covered ground was a sleigh, at the front of which were two of the most beautiful horses she had ever seen. A man in a top hat and tails was seated behind the horses.

  Cesar stood to one side. ‘Enter,’ he said with a bow and she approached the sleigh, and let him help her in, waited as he climbed in after her and pulled the wonderfully fluffy white blanket over them.

  ‘I didn’t even realise it had been snowing.’

  ‘Me neither.’ He grinned. ‘Flavia rang to tell me and it occurred to me that you may like this.’

  ‘I love this.’ She gestured to the landscape: the pristine white of the freshly laid snow stark against the green glimpses of the trees, the sky above a dazzling blue, the late afternoon sun glinting down in wintry splendour. The sound of the runners over the snow, the snuffle of the horses—all of it added to the magical feel of the day.

  ‘Thank you. For today and yesterday as well. I needed this break. It’s given me new energy, a fresh perspective. Made me feel stronger.’ But she knew it wasn’t only the break—it was this man sitting next to her, the man who had made her laugh, had helped decorate a tree, had been compassionate and caring and kind.

  ‘I am glad.’ He paused. ‘In a few minutes we will be at our destination—a place important to Aguilarean history. A woodland glade where legend has it just over two centuries ago the King of Casavalle and the King of Aguilarez met, after a series of bloody and awful battles. They met and decided enough was enough, that the wars were tearing both countries apart and somehow a peace must be brokered. And so it ended, because two rulers trusted each other, against all odds, and put their people’s futures above the feuds and wars and greed. And made a truce.’